The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3


    Those of you who have read my initial memoirs and followed with me the vagaries of erotic inconstancy which was my lot to observe at the seminary of St. Thaddeus remember with what a dismal mood I took my leave of that illustrious institution, having observed at first hand (or, more accurately, first-skin) the orgiastic behavior which imbued seemingly each of the members of that holy order as regards conduct towards young, hapless maidens.

    And so when I found myself outside of that edifice which had housed so many scenes of carnal ardor, I let myself be wafted by a gentle southerly wind which took me to the memorable little village in Provence. As I had always wished to see France, I welcomed this fortuitous disposition of the elements and was content to settle in that charming hamlet which is so appropriately named Languecuisse. (The name itself suggests romantic physical encounters, since in translation from the French it means 'Tongue Thigh.') At Languecuisse, as those of you who have read the second volume of my autobiography are doubtless aware, I sought the opportunity to relax in this bucolic setting, where grapes were trodden out by the bare feet of entrancing young girls and women on whom the Gallic sun had smiled – and with good reason. I found that a kind of primal and yet enduring joy was fostered by an atmosphere of which wine-yielding grapes were harvested and laborers tilled the soil in expectation of their just reward. There were amorous frolics which I espied in my flea's way, and which, after the almost inevitable monotony of captivity in that English seminary, I looked upon with a less jaundiced eye.

    I witnessed, among other tender conjugal scenes, the rivalry between the good Dame Lucille and Dame Margot, who, each proud of her husband's prowess between the sheets, permitted her spouse a virtually unheard-of freedom in bedding her rival, so that he might at last come to realize the good fortune which the Goddess Venus had seen fit to extend to his household.

    But most of all, I was attracted to the tender virgin Laurette, that golden-haired maiden who, even upon my entry into Languecuisse, mournfully faced the prospect of a wintry union with old, withered Monsieur Villiers, though her sweet, dewy eyes and her quivering milky-white flesh yearned for union with a tender lover more nearly her own age. As you will also recall, I witnessed how indulgent Venus, watching from on high on Mount Olympus, deigned to favor Laurette's destiny by causing her elderly husband to die of a heart attack as the result of his excitement sustained when his charming golden-haired bride fondled his senile cock while Marisia, the not-quite fourteen-year-old ward of the old fool, applied her dainty pink tongue to that same incompetent instrument.

    I had come to believe, as a happy sequel to my gloomy sojourn in the seminary of St. Thaddeus, that there was great truth in the Latin proverb, 'Amor cincit omnia.' That valiant adage, which means 'Love conquers all,' seemed to come to new life and meaning when beautiful young Laurette found herself a widow who had inherited the vineyards and the house and the golden francs of the patron of that little French Village in the heart of Provence. And I applauded her shrewd girlish cunning in overcoming the resistance of the curate of that village, fat, licentious Pere Mourier, to her remarriage to her true love, young Pierre Larrieu, by the simple expedient of bestowing upon the priest the gift of the little vineyard, where her humble father had been a poor tenant, as well as the rental on the cottage in which she herself had been born. She had thus ingeniously purchased dispensation enough to absolve her from any charge of harlotry in the eyes of that fat lecher, and she could thus go to her marriage-bed with lusty vigor and the full joy of her eager and wakened young senses in mating with a splendid young man whose cock, needless to say, would never fail to perform its marital obligations in saluting the sweet tightness of her delicious cunny.

    I had even (since a flea has sensitivity and imagination and human compassion which sometimes exceed even the attributes of those mortals on whom my colleagues and I are wont to find our sustenance by biting and blood-sucking) thought that I might settle down in Languecuisse and follow with a benevolent and somewhat paternal eye the flowering of that blessed union between Laurette and young Pierre. Since we fleas have a longevity greater than is supposed, I must confess even to having daydreamed of finding my own flea-ish mate and engendering a brood of progeny who would, like myself, waft on the wind from nation to nation to espouse the doctrine of happiness through true love. I might, I told myself, even live long enough to see the offspring of Laurette and Pierre indulging in their own delightful carnal gambols with mates of their own uninhibited choice. For in that gentle French village, the only baleful eye was that of good, portly Pere Mourier, who had a positive genius for ferreting out the fornicatory sins of his parishioners. And since Laurette was now a rich widow, soon to be properly wedded and bedded and bring to her Pierre not only the bounties of her own voluptuous young body, but also the gold-filled coffers of her defunct old husband, it appeared to me that no one henceforward could declaim against the Goddess Venus in the years ahead.

    For, look you, I have lived long enough and seen enough to conclude, somewhat cynically, that the good Mother Church tends to send its most zealous priests and missionaries and doers-of-good-deeds only to those lamentable locales where there is flagrant sinning which puts not a penny into the poorbox. Because Languecuisse would not be likely to come to the attention of the ecclesiastical authorities, I felt certain that Pere Mourier would live out the rest of his days without bothering those lovers who sought out the greensward and the hayricks and the night-shadowed fields to protect their adoration of each other's flesh. And then, when he passed from this mortal coil, another priest, no more and no less venal, would come to replace him, and finding nothing but love, would have no need to write excoriating reports back to his superiors. Yes, I told myself, Languecuisse would be a golden hamlet, and a golden age of love would make it thrive.

    But in my daydreaming, I grew careless, lulled by all the happiness about me. And even though Father Lawrence took his vacation at Languecuisse before returning to his new assignment, which was the very seminary of St. Thaddeus from which I had fled, I still would not heed the faint presentiment of danger which threatened even so small a creature as myself.

    But I had reckoned without the inimitable trait of feminine jealousy which had piqued even so ingenuous a heart as charming Laurette's. When Monsieur Villiers had adopted raven-haired Marisia, Laurette had become the aunt of this delectable morsel just past puberty. And having observed how precociously gifted her young niece was in matters of the male cock, Laurette had doubtless told herself that the continued presence of Marisia in the house which she and her hand some Pierre alone would occupy, presented dangers Benign as she was toward the orphaned girl on whom her deceased old husband had fixed his legal indulgence, Laurette doubtless dreaded coming upon Pierre and Marisia in an unguarded moment and finding herself cuckolded by that very same orphaned ward. So to remove the temptation of Pierre – even though Laurette could well tell herself that with her voluptuous beauty and her greater experience in fucking than Marisia could possibly have had, she could count on holding Pierre's priapic interest for years to come – she had agreed to let Father Lawrence take Marisia back to England as a novice, and had given the girl her blessing.

    I could not really censure Laurette for such a clever move; it was simply done in the light of her own future happiness, which she had a thousand times over earned by her dutiful obedience to the miserly old patron of Languecuisse whose odious and impotent advances she had tried to sustain as his legal consort. And having thus convinced myself that all was well in Paradise and that the thorn was at last out of the rose, I granted myself the luxury of a little nap. I chose the golden tendrils of Laurette's sweet cuntcurls. Somnolent and placid in my anticipation of an untroubled future – for we fleas, because of our intelligence, have as much erotic imagination as you mortals in the ability to conjure up scenes in which we play the principal roles instead of your doing so – I did not waken until it was far too late. Laurette, as if to make up for the human weakness by which she was sending her niece away from Languecuisse, had taken a pair of dainty scissors and cut off some of the golden ringlets which aureoled her sweet pink cunthole. These she had encased in a little locket and hung this token of her remembrance and affection about the ivory neck of Marisia.

    Oh, horror upon horror, to wake from my dreams of glory and erotic mastery over another flea who would be the most beautiful and desirable of all she-fleas, and who would bring to my unbridled imagination and sexual proclivities a talent of fusion and stimulation certain to demand the very best out of me, only to find myself imprisoned within a little round locket offering me not even a chance to make a half-hearted hop from corner to corner.

    Oh, perfidy, to allow myself to be thus entrapped by the very maiden whose destiny I had profoundly and compassionately guided. And this was my reward, this dungeon, without air or food, locked inside a receptacle chained about the neck of an unsuspecting young orphan who herself, I knew now, was totally unprepared for what awaited her when she would arrive at the notorious seminary of St. Thaddeus.

    At first, I had felt that my eyes were blurred with sleep, but such was not the case. Even as I realized my unforeseen captivity, I heard the resonant, mellow voice of Father Lawrence, only two feet away, informing the charming Marisia that the two of them would be in London a few days hence.

    “There, my daughter,” he told her unctuously, “you will have the great joy of being initiated as a novice in this holy seminary, and I shall be privileged to be your sponsor in this worthy entry into Mother Church.”

    And then I heard the not-so-naive Marisia whisper, “Oh, Your Reverence, I ask only one boon. It is that before I am made novice, you, all by yourself, will initiate me with your great, wonderful prick and show me truly what fucking is.”

    No, it was no nightmare, and it was not the veiling of my eyes with unaccustomed sleep. I moved cautiously in my prison, discovering what leeway was left to me of what had once been limitless freedom. My legs encountered only the hard metal through which not even I could bite. Yet my proboscis, ever sensitive to change and to nuance, detected the delicious tang of Laurette's cuntcurls which had been the eiderdown of my fatal nap. Philosophically, I told myself that I was only getting my just desserts; I, who had witnessed so much fucking and, the better to observe its complex and varied details, had taken my vantage point usually in the most intimate portion of the male or female anatomy, had been trapped by this habitual choice of site. And as I had napped in the golden cuntcurls of Laurette's golden fleece, it had been a kind of accolade which I had shown the charming girl, because my joy in witnessing her good fortune that she had achieved after the toils of her unhappy wedlock to the old patron.

    I knew that the situation was not immediately desperate. Like camels, we fleas can live for a long time without nourishment. Surely, I told myself, Marisia would one day open this locket and gaze tenderly upon those precious tendrils which her aunt had placed in this little memento to symbolize the conspiratorial tricks they had played on old Monsieur Villiers, tricks which had brought about the relatively happy death of the old fool, paving the road to romantic raptures for Laurette.

    But as the charming girl made ready for her voyage to London in the company of good Father Lawrence, I began to have some slight misgivings. Thirteen and a half years is a tender age, an impressionable age, at which a girl passes out of puberty into nascent girl and womanhood. Now, Marisia had already learned enough of the male cock to desire a more lengthy and thorough acquaintanceship with it. The dear child, for all her fondness for her Tante Laurette and her joy in having her only living and charming young relative grant her leave to go along with Father Lawrence, might forget the locket entirely in her absorption with cock. For at the Seminary of St. Thaddeus, there were a goodly number of virile priests – such as Father Clement, Father Ambrose, and those other holy men whom I saw carnally enjoying Bella and Julia – who would give her all the cock and more which her sweet little cunny might desire. She might, indeed, get so much that she would have no time for nostalgic reflections upon the golden hours of the past, and still less, therefore, upon the golden tendrils which reposed in this locket, I in their scented midst. What then? On this gloomy thought, then, dear reader, as I drowsed there in my dreary prison, nestling on those love-perfumed curls, my anxiety grew more imponderable with each passing hour as Marisia and Father Lawrence prepared to return to that sanctuary of sexual satiety which I had thought never to see again in all my flea-ish life!


    While I dwelt in my little metal prison, I had ample time to ponder what was likely to befall me, quite apart from my compassionate fears for the charming Marisia who naively believed that Father Lawrence was taking her to a kind of terrestrial paradise. When I had first arrived at the hamlet of Languecuisse, it had been in September when the sun was still gentle and the harvest time was warm and benevolent. But now it was October and, although Provence would still retain its benediction from the golden sun whose rays caressed the bursting grapes, London would be, by contrast, cold and dreary. I had thrived on the warmth of that little French community, and I had grown fat I must confess, with the nourishment derived in my inimitable fashion. Alas, London would recall to me the coming winter, the dense fog, the cold and penetrating wind and rain. Many of my brethren perish in the fall and winter unless, to be sure, they have journeyed to the safety of warmer climes. Yes, now, as I reclined on those soft golden tendrils of Laurette's pussy-hairs, I wished that I had let that favorable wind carry me past the equator and perchance to some such colorful metropolis as Rio de Janeiro or Buenos-Aires. There, I am told, the sun is always warm, the women plump and beautiful and the men amply fed on nourishing joints of beef, which would provide me for long years to come with succulent nourishment.

    But it was too late to ruminate about what might have happened. I have always been a pragmatist and hence am unique among my fellow-fleas; I am also an opportunist, with an incorrigible optimism at the same time. In a word, dear reader, hopeless though the situation seemed for me in my rigorous imprisonment, I none-the-less began to devise plans for my eventual escape. It was essential that I think positively. For if I gloomily accepted my incarceration in this locket to be permanent, the overweening dread of ending up so uselessly would assuredly paralyze my mental faculties, dull my wits and ingenuity, and inexorably condemn me to extinction. Hence I must fight off any such morbid thoughts with all the power of my will, if I hoped to survive the seeming catastrophe.

    Even as all these possibilities whirled through my brain, I heard Father Lawrence speaking again to his new protegee, Marisia. He spoke in French, since the charming young brunette had not yet acquired a knowledge of English. Now, dear reader, you may ask how it was that I came about my own fluency in this Romance language, and I will truthfully tell you. Have you not heard of the ancient legend of the Nibelungen, which tells how the great hero Siegfried, having killed the monstrous dragon Fafner, unwittingly touched his lips with his fingers which had been stained with the dragon's blood? So doing, he at once could comprehend the language of the birds tittering in the trees above him and divine their speech sufficiently to lead him to his destined bride, Brunnhilde. Well, during my sojourn in Languecuisse, I had had nourishment of one or two of the inhabitants of that charming hamlet. Having imbibed their blood, which was French, I was, like Siegfried, similarly endowed.

    The good Father was using his most persuasive eloquence with the charming child, and I could detect the throbbing note of carnal anticipation in his tone as he declaimed: “My child, we shall set forth upon our journey on the morrow. I will leave you to spend the night at the rectory of good Pere Mourier, and I enjoin you, my gentle Marisia, to say your litanies and to compose your spirit for the new life which awaits you, while I take leave of those dear friends I have encountered during my visit.”

    “Oui mon Pere,” Marisia breathed. Her tone was one not only of reverence for his station as a man of the cloth, but also tinged with the same kind of expectation, albeit that of an ingenuous fledgling for whom life's mysteries had hardly been really old. Yet already at her tender age of thirteen and a half, Marisia had come upon an almost mature eagerness as a result of her mastering the complex and divergent methods whereby the male cock makes exquisite conjuncture with the female cunny – yet she was still virgin!

    The English ecclesiastic now took Pere Mourier aside, and the two of them struck up a conversation. Since I was still imprisoned in the locket clinging about the neck of the sweet child, I could hear only vague murmurs, but I did manage to catch a word or two. Just as with a blind man whose other senses are increased by compensation, so I found that though I could not see, I could hear more sharply than I ever had before. And the gist of what Father Lawrence was telling the fat village priest was that the latter was morally bound to refrain from subjecting tender Marisia to any carnal trials. There was no doubt about it: Father Lawrence had already cleverly stamped the sweet brunette adolescent as his very own. From the tremolo in his resonant voice when he had spoken to his new ward, I had rightly guessed his avid anticipation of those moments when he would have her to himself and to the appeasement of his massive prick.

    His voice grew louder, so I knew that he was returning to the side of his charming novice-to-be: “Now you must go with the good Pere Mourier, and you will sleep with a good conscience and a happy heart until tomorrow, Marisia. When you say your prayers this night, my child, I beg you to say one for me also, that my farewell to Languecuisse may acquit me of a proper show of gratitude for the hospitality which these good people have given me, a foreigner on their soil.”

    “Oh, I shall, I shall, Your Reverence,” Marisia's sweet voice instantly responded. The inflection which she gave to the French words equating this answer had, unless I was mistaken, an even more fervent tone than before. I gather that the dear child was impatiently awaiting the night when she would be alone in the little bed which Pere Mourier would furnish her. And there, it amused me to speculate, she would seek to ease the erotic tensions which Father Lawrence had evoked in her dainty cunny. Ah, sweet maidenly innocence that could procure, at such a tender age, all heaven and all bliss by the simple expedient of applying a gentle finger to pink, delicate lips between girlish, quivering thighs! For novice though she was to be, Marisia was the wisest of young virgins, as I well knew. Doubtless this very night alone in her trundle bed, closing her eyes tightly and summoning up all kinds of amorous images, she would wriggle upon her sheets and titillate her dainty cunny as she pretended that the good Father Lawrence himself was laboring with her to bring them both towards an earthly paradise. In that blissful dream which she had hoped would soon be reality, her finger took on the aspect of that giant prong with which her spiritual mentor was so robustly equipped. Ah, how many maidens elsewhere throughout this entire world would unknowingly envy the gentle Marisia this night, for she would remain an untainted virgin even though experiencing the exquisite and naughty titillations of fucking – and yet without actually committing that mortal sin!

    “A sensible, a charming child,” I heard Pere Mourier sigh, and in his intonation I knew the old fool was hastily searching his roguish brain to conjure up some way whereby he himself may be enabled to hear Marisia's prayers as she knelt before her bed this night. And since I had visualized her nubile young charms while she and Laurette had frigged and frenched the latter's impotent old husband Monsieur Claude Villiers, I did not need much imagination to guess that Pere Mourier's prick was veritably aching from just thinking of what the raven-haired minx would look like in her thin shift or, better still, when it had been doffed to expose the young beauty's titties and pussy. But really it was too greedy of him; after all, he had access to every female of Languecuisse, which would include such mature jades as Dame Lucille and Dame Margot, to say nothing of his impetuously ardent housekeeper, and he would rule this hamlet once Father Lawrence had departed for London. So why, then, should he covet Marisia's tender maiden cunny when there was such an availability of female orifices better crafted to accept the rigors of his turgid, rapacious prick? Perhaps, however, the frailties of man are such to induce even a village priest to long for what he does not have and to forget what he is already enjoying. We fleas, I may add, have no such insatiable greed; metaphorically, our eyes are never bigger than our stomachs (or our sex organs, either!).

    “Ah, such she is, and will be more so once she is safely behind the walls of the seminary,” Father Lawrence now replied. “But, my child, what is this I see about your neck?”

    I quivered with delighted surprise: Would I now escape my prison?

    “Oh, Your Reverence, it's a memento which dear Tante Laurette gave me at parting. I beg you to let me retain it in memory of her and the happy times we had together, short though they were,” the sly little minx pleaded.

    “Tut, tut, my child,” the English ecclesiastic countered benignly, “one must never mistake idolatry for veneration of the true faith. You shall soon wear the cross about your lovely neck. Indeed, let me give you one of mine as a pledge of my spiritual guardianship of you, Marisia. There, you see how well it becomes your soft skin? I felt him remove the locket, and once again I was jiggled about inside it as he continued: “So, for the night at least, do you give me the locket for safekeeping. I will guard it as your property, never fear. Moreover, your sentiment for your Tante Laurette does you much credit, my dear child. As for you, Pere Mourier, I need not remind you that this young virgin is under my special protection and that her innocence is already dedicated in advance to the religious order of the seminary and within her walls her beauty will soon make exquisite ornament.”

    Morose though I was from having been trapped so stupidly within this 'momento,' I none-the-less almost laughed – for a flea may laugh by rubbing his legs together at a certain angle, though it is a sound which the human ear has not yet been able to detect – the shrewd English ecclesiastic had, in so many words, warned the fat French priest not to attempt any libidinous games with his charming ward.

    “Your wish will be respected, Father Lawrence,” the latter unctuously responded. “Come, my child, and I will take you to your abode for the night. Good night to you, Father Lawrence.”

    Marisia's guardian had slipped the locket into a pocket of his religious gown, and of course that was to be my dwelling-place until he made disposition of the locket back to Marisia. There was some hope for me in this transfer of ownership, however temporary, since the good Father might decide to inspect the contents of the locket. I told myself that I must therefore take care not to drowse again and to be ready for the opening of my prison. For it was obvious that Father Lawrence did not intend to accompany his French colleague back to the rectory.

    Moreover, he said as much in his farewell to Pere Mourier: “Do you then have the maiden ready to depart at ten tomorrow morning. I have arranged with the worthy Monsieur Debouchet to take us both in his horse-drawn cart to the village of Grand Ventre, where tomorrow afternoon we shall both, God willing, board the carriage that will take us to Calais and our boat to cross the Channel.”

    I had, of course, forgotten that Father Lawrence had sojourned with the comely widow Madame Hortense Bernard during his vacation in this admirable little village of Provence. I now deduced that it was his intention to bid her farewell, and that this leave-taking would not be one of short duration. And I remembered well how the good Father had not only given the Widow Bernard ten francs for the first week of his lodging but had granted her that carnal boon which not even her own husband had deigned to bestow upon her – namely, the taking of the virginity of her bottomhole. Hence as a man of honor and of the cloth as well, Father Lawrence doubtless intended to settle his score with the Widow Bernard before his departure, a score to be paid in more intimate means than francs alone.

    He walked in a leisurely manner towards the little cottage of his landlady, and I in the locket was bumped about at regular cadence as his strong thighs moved back and forth in their measured rhythm en route to his hospitable abode. Too, he might have put up at the rectory for the night; Pere Mourier's housekeeper, the beautiful Amazonian, Desiree, would surely be desirous to bid him Godspeed on his journey in the amorous way she had already shown so passionately.

    But then, since my mind was sharply at work in the continuance of finding distraction against my doleful incarceration, I perceived that Pere Mourier would inevitably summon Desiree to his own bed to console himself for leaving Marisia's virgin cunny immaculate. And I had to commend Father Lawrence on his admirable tact; the fat French priest's chagrin, in being denied access to Marisia's virginal couch, might well have made him the enemy of Father Lawrence, but if he could instead requite his blazing lusts with his sculptural housekeeper, he could forget the other frustration.

    Father Lawrence at last arrived at the cottage of the Widow Bernard and knocked sonorously three times. The door was almost immediately opened, and I heard again the sweetly mellow contralto voice of his handsome and mature landlady; “Oh Your Reverence, I was already thinking of you! I have prepared a particularly appetizing supper which I hope will please your discriminating palate. Alas, it may well be the last repast that I set before Your Reverence.”

    “Thank you, my daughter. Yes, you are quite right; in the morning I leave for London. Hence I am happy to have these last hours with you, my daughter, so that I may settle my reckoning with you and leave your charming cottage without being materially in you debt.”

    “Ah, how I shall miss Your Reverence. But do come in, for it is not proper to keep a man of your eminence standing outside my humble door!”

    Yes, I told myself, the good Father would be well occupied this his last night in Languecuisse! I could almost see the benign smile upon his manly visage at these flattering words of the Widow Bernard's and her own fatuous smile in her delight at seeing his gratification. She would presently see that gratification take the shape of his vigorous bludgeon of a prick, not too long after the repast she intended for him. I have found in my wanderings that human beings have an axiom all their own: A full belly leadeth always to a full cock. And also: The more tempting the viands consumed, the more furious the urge to fuck. So this would be a memorable last night indeed for Father Lawrence, as well as for his beautiful widowed landlady, if I was any judge.

    He sat down at the table, jiggling me again in my metal prison, and the Widow Bernard served him a meal over which he exclaimed many times. There was a bottle of good red Beaujolais, extremely young, since the cork had been put to it at this last harvest, the harvest which had brought Laurette such unforeseen rapture and exalted status in the village.

    I will not bore you, my appreciative reader, in recounting the homilies and platitudinous flattery which the two of them exchanged during that meal. Suffice it to say that each sought to wheedle the other into a radiant mood of well being, a kind of spiritual attunement for their night ahead. But when I felt myself jiggled again, it was because Father Lawrence had risen from the table, pushing back his chair, and then I heard him say in a firm voice (which nevertheless trembled with greedy anticipation): “Truly, a feast for the gourmet, my daughter! And now, before I say farewell to you, let me hear your confession so that I may shrive you of any sins that you have either committed or considered. Your bedroom, I believe, would be a fitting chapel for your orisons. Come, my daughter, let us retire.”


    “Close the door, Your Reverence, do. When I am with you, I feel almost as I did when I was a trembling bride.” The Widow Bernard seemed to be in the grip of a powerful emotion once inside the portals of her bedchamber.

    There was a sound of the closing of the door, and with it I was jiggled once again in my metal prison, now encased within the pocket of his cassock. I realized that now I should have to use my keenly developed sense of hearing in lieu of sight, since even a flea as gifted as I has not yet devised the power of peering through metal and, after that, a thickness of black cloth. So, dear reader, you, just as I did then, will have to supply your own fanciful imagery and join it to the accompanying dialogue which I faithfully remembered while Father Lawrence took his fond leave of the delectable matron.

    “There, now, my daughter, it is done. Does it allay your trepidations?”

    To this there was a stifled little giggle as the Widow Bernard retorted, “But not entirely, Your Reverence. My feelings are mixed at this very moment, for you see, I behold you now in the black cassock of your holy order, which reminds me of my frailties as a sinner. Yet at the same time, when I gaze upon your handsome features, dear Father Lawrence, I tremble inwardly with those forbidden sensations which are proper only to a dutifully married woman.”

    I heard him cluck his tongue in a gentle reproof: “This is understandable, my daughter. And it is good that, as a true believer of the Faith, you stand in awe of the most sacrosanct mysteries which are handed down to us from the very top of Mount Sinai, when Moses received those tenets which were to guide the lives of all of us in the centuries to come. Truly, my black cassock is the symbol of Mother Church, who gathers into her arms all the penitents who seek her consolation and her forgiveness for their temporal as well as their spiritual sins. Yet, to continue the analogy, under this cassock beats the heart of a virile man who is all too well aware of these frailties of which you speak so self-consciously. In my ecclesiastical robes, I stand before you as the representative of Mother Church, to give you her blessing and to pray that you will be comforted in your sorrows and your affliction of being bereft of a suitable husband, who will know how within the scope of our righteous laws to ease your carnal pangs as a descendant of the Eve who must atone throughout the ages for having eaten the forbidden fruit in Eden.”

    “Your words are so helpful, my dear Father Lawrence,” the Widow Bernard cooed, and then uttered a heartfelt sigh.

    “I do my humble best, my daughter,” he responded. “And now it is as that representative that I stand before you, to take heed of your confessional, which shall always be private between us, since no confidence to a priest may ever be passed on to the laity. Tell me, daughter, have you sinned in aught since our last meeting?”

    “Oh, no, Your Reverence! It is true that I scolded Madame Tilueil for having sent her little boy over to me with a basket of eggs which I needed to make this very cake you found so delicious just now, Your Reverence. I found three bad eggs, for which she had charged me the full price, and I am afraid that knowing these eggs were for your august palate, I lost my temper.”

    “I will easily forgive you that, my daughter. You will say one Hail Mary before you close your eyes this night. Is there aught else?”

    There was a moment's silence while the handsome widow pondered, and then a soft: “If it is a sin, Your Reverence, I missed you very much the other night. And last night, too. And – and it was as a man, not as a priest, that I longed for you. I know I have sinned grievously.”

    “No, my daughter, only if you sought to console your disappointment with some man to whom you were not wed, would you then be in mortal sin.”

    “Oh, no, Your Reverence. But I did dream that you were beside me in bed, fucking me with your becque.” (At this point, let me remind you, dear reader, the good Father and his beauteous landlady were speaking in French, and to facilitate matters I will merely furnish to you the English translation to ease your understanding of what took place. Now, the word becque is French, and a colloquialism which roughly corresponds to the English 'prick.')

    “Did you manifest any other action than passively during this dream, my daughter?”

    “No, Your Reverence, except that when I wakened, I found I had my finger in my con.” (Here again Madame Bernard used the French vulgarism for what in English is called 'cunny.')

    “After due reflection, my daughter, I do not think you were really guilty of mortal sin. Your mind, like your body, was dormant while you were asleep, and your finger cannot be said to have committed a mortal sin simply by wandering at random over your fair person while your mind was in repose. I therefore absolve you. Now, is that the last?”

    “I – I think so, Your Reverence. Are – are you really leaving Languecuisse tomorrow?”

    “It is my destiny, my daughter. I have been assigned to the Seminary of St. Thaddeus, and he who takes the bread of Mother Church must do her bidding. However, joyfully I may tell you that I bring to my new post a lovely and innocent candidate for righteousness, since the charming damsel Marisia, who as you will remember was the ward of the late Monsieur Villiers, will accompany me to take up her duties as a novice in our holy order.”

    “Ah, Father Lawrence, what I would not give to be in her place and to be, indeed, of her tender years.”

    “Let us remember that one of the commandments, my daughter, reproves you for coveting that which is not yours. It is Marisia's destiny, as it is mine to take her there, and undoubtedly for you there will be a place in heaven when your time is come. Yet since you are yet young and strong and spirited, my daughter, I shall be greatly surprised if, before another year is out, you do not exchange your widow's weeds for the costume of a joyous bride. And it is this benediction towards that ultimate happiness which I am come to give you now, both as a priest and as a man who appreciates your hospitality.”

    Once again I could hear the Widow Bernard's stifled giggle, and I knew how greatly she had been impressed by the English ecclesiastic's sententious declamation. I was certain that she was impatient now, having received his absolution in his role of priest, to be the recipient of his massive cock's farewell joust within her burning cuntsheath.

    “I am grateful for Your Reverence's good wishes. But alas, in a tiny village like this, it is not easy to find a worthy man who will mate with a widow no longer in the springtime of her youth. And you know that Laurette has captured that handsome devil of a Pierre Larrieu, whose ilk is none too common. Oh, Your Reverence, I shall pine in my bed alone at night and dream not only of you, but of a vigorous youth like Pierre. I know that I shall commit sin, because you will be away in London, perhaps never to return, and yet Pierre Larrieu will be only a little distance away from my humble cottage and my lonely bed.'*

    “Then you must remember the counsel of good St. Paul, who said that it was far better to marry than to burn,” Father Lawrence immediately riposted. “You must make a diligent effort to suppress your urge to sin until you have found a suitable spouse who will accommodate your yearnings within the holy estate of matrimony. Yet, because, as a man, I know how you are suffering now – as a woman and not as a parishioner – I take pity on you my last night in Languecuisse. See, I am removing my cassock. Now there is no longer the priest – only the man.”

    “Oh, Your Reverence – and what a man you are! I can see your prick fairly bursting through your drawers.”

    “Why, then, since it is wrong and against nature to suppress all natural instincts, and so that by the good grace of harmonious relationships between our sexes as man and woman, liberate my prick and at the same time liberate your delicious pussy, so that we may unite the two organs in a felicitous gesture of comradeship and parting at the same exquisite time.”

    Father Lawrence, as you see, dear reader, was something of a romantic. Had he stayed in Languecuisse and replaced fat Pere Mourier (whose habits as a trencherman at table and as a cocksmith in bed were very likely to bring on fluxes, cholers and increasing fleshly girth) I verily believe that the little hamlet would have become a veritable paradise for thwarted lovers and suppressed widows, to say nothing of disappointed Amazonian housekeepers, like the beautiful Desiree.

    “And now you make me blush, Your Reverence, as I gaze upon so mighty a prick and think that in a few moments it will do my poor little cunny the honor of stretching it apart until I nearly swoon with pleasure,” the Widow Bernard exhaled in the most langorous of tones. I heard a rustling now, and knew it to be of garments being removed. Sure enough, for a moment later Father Lawrence, his voice hoarse with the unmistakable note of sexual zeal, pronounced: “As a man and not as a priest, my dear Hortense, the sight of your carnation-tinted naked skin assures me that you will not lack for proper suitors. Now do not misunderstand me, my daughter. I would not have you go about exposing your fine limbs or those luscious bubbies of yours to vulgar eyes. But surely, it cannot be great wrongdoing to allow a deferential and serious-minded suitor the opportunity to inspect, however briefly, a portion of your treasures, particularly at the time when he is amorous of you and of a type of impressionable mind which can be led down the aisle to the holy altar of matrimony. Remember, this, my daughter.”

    “Oh, I will, I will, Your Reverence. And now I am blushing just as I did on my wedding night. I have only my drawers on, as you do, Your Reverence. My knees are beginning to tremble, seeing that big, hard, stiff prick of yours standing out in the air, menacing my poor little cunny. I want it so much, and yet the way it stares and points at my cunny fills me with fear, truly, Your Reverence!”

    Now the Widow Bernard's voice was trembling with overwrought emotions. I could picture the scene: both of them naked to the waist, clad only in their drawers, he with his cock sticking out through the vent of that last garment, she with clenched, sweaty little hands and dilated eyes and flaring nostrils, as her gaze fixed irrevocably on the plumhead of this mighty, throbbing cock.

    I did not need my vision to recall the features and the form of this vigorous ecclesiastic. He was a man just under six feet in stature and in his late forties. His abundant shock of brown hair was only partly streaked with gray. He had intensely compelling blue eyes – I suspect that the very intensity of their gaze had much to do with his prowess – surmounted by very thick, bushy brows. His nose was Roman, his mouth and chin firm and decisive. There was, perhaps, in the corners of that mouth, just the slightest hint of sensuality, the faintest suspicion of self-esteem at the moment of conquering a tasty cunt such as the Widow Bernard undeniably possessed. I began to wish, indeed, that when I had taken my nap it had been in the luxuriant bush between her carnation-sheened, plump thighs, for she was not likely to indulge in such nonsensical sentimentality as to cut off her pussycurls and put them in a locket to give to another girl, of all things! She was the type of woman who gave of herself fully and wholly – if my readers will forgive so atrocious a pun! – and without counting those silky tendrils which fleeced that plump and appetizing mound of Venus.

    “I must also give you one final piece of advice, dear Hortense,” he resumed, his voice husky now and resounding after a slight pause which was marked out for me by the sound of kisses and the slithering of hands over naked flesh. “It is that you must not disparage yourself, but rather – and yet this must be done without excessive vanity or bragging, lest it be a mortal sin, mind you, my daughter – extol your virtues and your charms to the right ears and before the proper eyes, so that you will become the more desirable to both these sets of organs and so, in final turn, to the most primitive and yet the most discriminating organ of all that a man holds, his cock. And there again you must show care in not giving way to your surging passions which rival those – and I am sincere in telling you this, my dear Hortense – of a young virgin who yearns to explore the holy mysteries with an adoring male companion. In a word, Hortense, you must whet desire without seeming to lead it on; you must cajole without appearing to become covetous; and you must stimulate without yourself succumbing, until the ring, the book, and the candle are before you. If you will remember but this precept, I promise you that you will be wed within a year. For what man who still possesses the spark of life within his loins and sinews would fail to get a hard on at the sight of your panting titties, my beautiful Hortense, of the soft, thick fur which covers the ripe pink lips of that greedy little cunny of yours? Not I, for one, could ever be impervious to such delicious temptations – as a man, hark you, not as a priest.”

    “Of course, Your Reverence!” The Widow Bernard's voice was choking with emotion. I heard now the creaking of her bed as the two of them sat down upon it. I heard then the sound of sucking of titties and the slapping of hands against naked flesh, and the flurried little moans a woman makes when a man with a massive prick, such as Father Lawrence, begins to fondle her nipples and the soft moist insides of her quivering thighs. I knew, too, that those moans and sighs of hers were conceived not only out of the furious lust which now invaded her naked body, but also her rueful awareness that tonight would be the last time she could enjoy the vigorous cramming of which his prick was capable. As you will recall, dear reader, in a previous volume of my memoirs, I described this fearsome weapon as measuring at least seven and a half inches in length, with a superb thickness in proper proportion, and a head that was oval-shaped and slightly elongated, having the appearance of a deadly arrowhead. When I saw it again in my mind's eye, I confess that I shuddered for Marisia's dainty cunthole, for it could not compare with the Widow Bernard's capacity to absorb so rigorous and massive a penetrator.

    “Oh, I am dying for you, Your Reverence,” the Widow Bernard panted, and I heard the bed creak even more furiously. The Widow Bernard furnished me – and you, my readers, in turn – with a lucid and graphic recital of the proceedings, thereby permitting me to see what was going on: “Aah, oh – it's so good, Your Reverence! Dig farther into me, it seems like years since I last enjoyed so wonderful a fuck – Aiii, I am on fire for you, I burn and die for you. Oh, do not spare me tonight, your prick will have to make up for those nights when you will not be in my bed, Your Reverence!”

    “Be of good cheer, my daughter,” he panted, and I heard the bed creak again, doubtless with the driving advance of his mighty ramrod deep into the confines of her seething pussy, “I am but the embodiment of your desires. Have I not told you that before the year is out, another man, as worthy as myself, will replace me atop you, riding between your satiny warm thighs, and will fuck you till you have no more juice left in that greedy pussy of yours, my beautiful and passionate Hortense.”

    There followed more creakings than ever, and now sobs and groans and unintelligible phrases emanated from the shuddering naked widow, so masterfully ridden by Father Lawrence. Then I heard him gasp, “Do put your little finger into my bunghole, dear Hortense, for it will make me harder than ever and thus bring about your redemption from lust through fulfillment.”

    No sooner had he spoken than she must have complied, for I heard him utter a hoarse cry of “Aaahhh! Now hold me tightly with your arms and legs, and put your tongue in my mouth, and let us to the fray with good heart and cheer.” Thereupon still more creakings, the noisiest of all, and finally a cry of communal ecstasy, followed by a long, contented sigh of ecstasy from the widow, who had doubtless tasted the elixir of hot ecclesiastical spunk in the deepest recesses of her avid cunthole, which had released her own creamy flow of lovedew.

    It was a long moment before I heard another word from them, and it was the Widow Bernard who first broke the blissful silence by murmuring, just loud enough for me to hear: “Oh, I wish this night would never end!”

    “But my daughter, all good things must come to an end. Just as good fucking must end in a come,” he chuckled. “You are mature enough to know about the joy of fucking which approaches its zenith when the first furious ardors are appeased, so that the return engagement between male and female may be more prolonged, more thoughtful and considerate of each other's intimate needs. Do not look at me with those wide, surprised eyes, my beautiful Hortense. Did you think I was going to leave your bed after fucking you once on this my last night in Languecuisse? It may be that in centuries to come, we shall be reincarnated in some other forms, and there we shall take up our tryst. Until that immortality is granted us, my daughter, you must hie to another husband lest the villagers one day stone you for whoring, and I must put back on my cassock and my hat and be the humble and guided servant of Mother Church to lead those who would stray from virtue back to the path of righteousness.”

    “Oh, Your Reverence makes me weep, you speak so beautifully of fucking,” the Widow Bernard sighed. For the scholarly reader, let me add that she had achieved an ingenious play on words, speaking as she did in French. She had said, “Tu me fais mourir en parlant de baiser.” Yet the French word “baiser” means kissing as well as fucking. Thus, for those who are outwardly prudish and do not dare express their agitated desires to be a voyeur such as I am, their sensibilities would not be offended if the Widow Bernard could be said to have remarked poetically that the way he spoke of kissing made her swoon. And that, to be sure, equates a charmingly outmoded reaction of a fair maiden back in the days when knights were bold even inside their armor!

    There was a pause now, while undoubtedly the good Father Lawrence performed such ablutions as are requisite to repair the vestiges of fornication. But it was not too long thereafter that I heard the bed creak once again and heard him murmur, “Now by way of farewell, I will salute the warm niche that has given me such pleasure.” I then heard him implant a sucking, moist kiss, and I was certain that it was applied to her cunthole, which, moreover, Hortense herself confirmed by squealing, “Ooohhh, Your Reverence, how lovely that is when you kiss me between my legs – Oh, it thrills me all over once more to feel your raspy tongue go inside!”

    “I would not consider it amiss, dear Hortense,” he replied huskily, “if you would yourself salute my emblem of manhood by way of farewell.”

    I heard her giggle, and then there was a soft slushing sound which could only represent the act of her mouth absorbing the elongated tip of his vigorous cock.

    Thus they performed soixante-neuf on each other as a prelude to their second bout of fucking. It lasted a considerably longer time than the first, which I have already described, and the Widow Bernard was even more eloquent as she called out her ecstasies and sensations during its progress.

    When they had at last given up their last spunk generously to each other, the bed creaked once more, and I heard Father Lawrence say, “And now I must bid you farewell with a heavy heart and, I fear, with a diminished cock. I shall take myself to my cot and sleep until it is time to begin the journey back to the Seminary. I will remember not only your salutation, but your hospitality during my stay in Languecuisse, my daughter. My blessings be upon you, both now and when I am absent from you.”

    “But is Your Reverence not going to spend his last night here in my bed?” Hortense Bernard was almost sobbing.

    “No, my daughter. I must walk through the vineyard of this village and bless the grapes for next year's harvest, that there may be prosperity and happiness in this little village where I have had such bucolic joys. So this is farewell, my daughter. A last kiss -”

    “A last feel of your big cock, Your Reverence, please.” Now the Widow Bernard was really sobbing.

    Again the sounds of exchanged moist kisses, the slithering of hands on naked flesh, and then with a raucous sigh, Father Lawrence announced his departure. In due course, I felt myself lifted up in my metal prison and jounced about as he put on his cassock. And then he left the cottage of the beautiful widow and strode with unimpaired, vigorous steps out into the night.

    I marveled at his energy. He walked for fully half an hour and, I have no doubt, through the vineyards, as he had told the Widow Bernard he would. Then he turned his footsteps in another direction, as best I could decide in my dark confinement, and walked for what seemed even a longer time until finally I heard him climb the steps of the rectory of Pere Mourier.

    He must have touched the nightbell very gently, for in a few moments I heard the door open and then I heard the gasping of a feminine voice, “Your Reverence! I hadn't thought you would be back till morning.”

    “Shh, my daughter. Is your employer at his prayers or at his slumbers?”

    “At the latter, Your Reverence.” I recognized the voice as that of Desiree, the Amazonian housekeeper of the French priest.

    “And my charming ward – is she sleeping, too?”

    “Oh, yes, Your Reverence!”


    “To be certain, Your Reverence. Pere Mourier gave me strict orders to see to it that Marisia was taken to a little room near mine, and he said that I was to look in on her and be sure that she did not leave her bed. Since I myself am a light sleeper, as you well know, Your Reverence, I listened for footsteps, but there were none. And only just before you rang, I peeped in on my employer. He snores like a swarm of bees.”

    “Then all is well. Marisia's virtues are still unplucked. I had hoped that I might find you, my beautiful Desiree. I wished to say goodbye.”

    “Oh, Your Reverence, I hoped and dreamed that you would do so, but I feared you would spend the night with the Widow Bernard.”

    “That would be churlish, since I am in your debt for so much pleasure during my vacation here, my daughter.”

    “Come, then, I am burning for you, Your Reverence!”

    What a man, indeed, was this Father Lawrence! He had already paid at least two tributes to Venus between the straining thighs of the beauteous widow Bernard. Had he not walked like an athlete through the darkened vineyards before he returned to the rectory on the other side of town? And now he proposed to say farewell to the lovely Desiree, whose thighs were even more valiant and supple and taxing than Hortense Bernard's!

    Verily, it might be said of him that he was not only a man of good faith, but of good works. Desiree led him directly to her room, and instantly flung her arms about him, pressing her body tightly to him, for I felt myself once again jostled to and fro inside the locket. The cunthairs of Laurette moved gently, cradling and cushioning my body against the buffets of my metal prison. Perhaps it was a symbol in its way that I was to be cushioned against the buffets of fate in the days ahead – I assuredly hoped as much.

    Desiree wasted no time in getting to the point of her desires, which is to say, the arrowhead prick of the English ecclesiastic.

    “Oh, I must feel it – I must hold it against my cunny, Your Reverence,” Desiree proclaimed once they were together with the door closed.” Quickly, take off your cassock, for it is sacrilege for me to touch a priest as intimately as I long to touch you. Once you are naked, Your Reverence, I forget everything except that you are such a man as I hoped might wed me!”

    Once again the cassock was removed and draped over some article of furniture, altering again my comfort in that accursed locket. I heard the rustling of garments, and knew that the two of them were impatient to be skin to skin, prick to cunt, titties to chest, mouth upon mouth with tongues rapiering in emulation of what prick and cunt were doing down below. And this time it was Desiree who was the aggressor, entreating him to fuck her, not to spare her. She enclasped him with her body, judging by the sounds I heard, and her mouth glued to his in such sucking and draining kisses as I had never heard before, not even in mat Seminary to which it now seemed I was destined to return through no will of my own.

    She also attained several climaxes before he gave down his spunk. As a connoisseur, I a lowly yet imaginative flea, could appreciate how much delicious pleasure Father Lawrence was experiencing with his prick embedded deep inside Desiree's cunthole, after having enjoyed Madame Bernard as an appetizer, so to speak. He was simply following his own judicious maxim: that the first excesses of carnal lust should be expended, leaving the male prick to take its leisurely gait within an eager cunthole, and thereby giving its owner what appeared to be an indefatigable and tireless power.

    Certainly, Desiree herself acclaimed his incredible vigor, as she cried out, “Oh, mon Dieu, I have never had so wonderful a fuck! Ooooh, you have made me spend three times already, and yet you have not once lost your hot, sweet gism! You are like a rock, a machine, and yet how gloriously my cunt tells me that you are a man of flesh and blood!”

    “This is the best farewell salutation you could give me, my daughter,” he panted as the bed continued to squeak and Desiree continued to groan and sigh as yet another climax shook her body.

    And that was how Father Lawrence spent his final night in the little village in the heart of Provence to which a favorable wind had wafted me. Now he and I, though he could not at this time know it, were to return to bleak London and that odious seminary where fornication seemed to occur out of a quantitative rather than a qualitative instinct.


    I was able to get sufficient sleep after Father Lawrence had bade Desiree a last amorous goodbye, and when I wakened, I found that I had not been dreaming. Alas, I was still securely imprisoned within the locket, and my proboscis was being tickled by one of the strands of Laurette's pussyhairs. I heard rather suddenly the resonant voice of the ecclesiastic in whose cassock pocket I remained unwillingly housed: “Well, Pere Mourier, like all things, our brief acquaintanceship comes to an end this day. God willing, I may be back to visit you in Languecuisse one day.”

    Whereupon came the unctuous and oily tones of the fat French cure: “Ah, my worthy and eminent colleague, we could have done great things together. Though I have known you but a few short weeks, Father Lawrence, you are a man in whose company I feel completely at my ease.”

    “You do me too much honor, Pere Mourier,” responded my unknowing jailer, “but if I mistake not, you would much prefer the company of the fair sex to mine. Besides, what should it profit either of us to waste our sermons and our wisdom on each other, when it is our duty to bring redemption and humility to the laity? No, my dear friend, you will fulfill an exemplary function here in this tiny village by overseeing the frolics of the young men and the young girls and dragging them toward the blessed altar of Our Lady. Even in far-off London when I am most nostalgically reminiscent over my sojourn in this little corner of beautiful Provence, I shall sense, somehow, a spiritual rapport – those moments when you are reading the banns from your pulpit in the village church. And my heart will be gladdened at the thought that you are bringing righteousness to the hot-blooded youth of this part of France, with whose moral vigor I am in such hearty sympathy.”

    “Rest assured that I shall do my very best, good Father Lawrence,” the fat priest returned. “But all the same, I shall remember how it was with your help that we brought the dear Laurette to the bridal bed and ultimately to such great fortune as she now enjoys. I was the one who first heard her timid, juvenile confession – the dear child! – and now to think she is mistress of a rich estate and about to wed such a handsome and worthy man as young Pierre!”

    I tell you frankly, dear reader, that if I had been out of that wretched locket, I would have bitten the old hypocrite in his fleshiest parts to punish him for his double-faced prevarications. I could well remember how he had condemned that handsome youth when he had come upon him and Laurette out in the fields, and how he had characterized young Pierre as a good-for-nothing, a wretched scoundrel who sought to steal the previous jewel that was already spoken for on behalf of the senile old patron of the hamlet. But now the tables had been turned and the patron was no more upon this mortal coil, and besides, Laurette had shrewdly anticipated his greed by bestowing a bounteous largesse upon his rectory – now he was singing the praises of the very youth he had damned so recently.

    However, Father Lawrence did not seem disposed to pursue the obsequious conversation and now remarked, “I trust that my ward is ready for the journey?”

    “Oh, to be sure. I will have my housekeeper see to her bath and her dressing for the voyage back to London, dear sir. What a charming creature she is! How I envy you the task of converting her to the true faith and developing all those tender sensibilities which she has already given exquisite proof.”

    “I trust,” said the English ecclesiastic dryly, “that she did not offer any such proof to you last night.”

    I heard a gasp of injured indignation as the French prelate proclaimed his honesty as one who had been granted a holy trust. “What a thought, Your Reverence! I assure you that I lay on my bed, before sleep overtook me, saying my rosary for the soul of the little darling, that no evil might befall her in a foreign land.”

    “You must not impugn England because it is not France,” good Father Lawrence instantly countered, with an ironic chuckle. “From what I have heard, the Seminary of St. Thaddeus shelters some of the most able priests of our doctrine. I had heard of Father Clement and Father Ambrose long before I was assigned to the Seminary. They are famous for their good works among the impious, the uninformed and particularly the young, most impressionable sinners whom they seek to turn toward the way of propriety and humility.”

    “Most excellent virtues, those,” the fat French priest replied. “But here is Desiree herself, and look you, she brings Marisia ready to depart with you. Come, my darling child, and give an old priest a loving kiss. I will say prayers for you this evening, and I shall brush away the tears to think that your sweet face and soft voice and lovely form will no longer grace our little village.”

    “You are very sweet, dear Pere Mourier,” I heard the fluted voice of young Marisia intone. Then I heard a noisy, wet smack and knew that she had complied with the fat old fool's request. I divined also that his pudgy hands must have slyly roamed over the more tempting parts of her as yet immature though certainly nubile anatomy. Besides, Father Lawrence now gruffly bade his French colleague a last adieu, and only then did his voice take on a softer tone as he bade farewell to the housekeeper Desiree.

    “And you, Madame, I am in your debt forever for your gracious hospitality. I shall remember the delectable dishes which you prepared for me with your own lovely hands, and the tender attention with which you watched over my endeavors in this village which is native to you, but which, in so short a time, already engraved its landmark in my very heart. Give me your hand to kiss, Madame; in your own prayers this evening, before you enter your solitary bed, think kindly of me, if you will.”

    “That will not be in the least difficult, Your Reverence,” the bold Amazon softly laughed. I heard the sound of a kiss, and then an excited little giggle. Undoubtedly my jailer must have retaliated by pinching the housekeeper just as her employer had already done to Father Lawrence's virginal ward.

    A little later, we were rattling along in the cart which the amiable farmer had brought around to take Father Lawrence and Marisia on the first leg of their journey. Father Lawrence was laconic during the long ride in the cart, though from time to time he made some banal comment or other upon the beauty of the landscape. He did, however, ask Marisia if she felt the least bit homesick at leaving Provence, at which she retorted saucily, “Oh, no, my Father, because I feel so safe and happy with you. Is it true that you are to be my sponsor when I become a novice in the seminary to which you are taking me?”

    “That is true, my daughter.”

    “And will there be a kind of initiation before I am admitted?”

    “Undoubtedly, my daughter.”

    “Then, my Father,” Marisia cooed as she snuggled closer to him, judging by the nearer sound of her voice to my sharply keened sense of hearing in that locket which he had appropriated, “I shall do my very best to please you. Are you going to fuck me?”

    “Hush, my child, or our driver may overhear and condemn us both for such licentiousness!” Father Lawrence warned. Then, his voice very low, he added more gently, “If you wish it, my daughter.”

    “I do. I want you to be the one who takes my maidenhead, my Father. I am so envious of Laurette, you know. And even if I am much younger than she is, my Father, it does not mean that I cannot endure the same tortures and desires that she does between her lovely legs.”

    “Of that I am quite aware, my daughter. However, I would caution you in advance of your entry to the seminary. For all that I shall be your sponsor, for all that I shall show you by way of preference – you are very adorable and very desirable as well as a candidate for salvation – there are still priests at the seminary who have the right to test your compliance and your docility. And it would be injurious to my own status as a novice myself, for such I am, my dear child, having just been assigned to this seminary – if you were to express aloud your sentiments preferring me to the other priests who have been there far longer and who therefore have rights of seniority over your charming person.”

    “I shall be very good and do everything you tell me to. But, Father Lawrence…”

    “What, my child?”

    Marisia now must have leaned very close to him to whisper, and I could make out only the words – in French, of course, which I continue to translate for you- 'fuck' and 'take my maidenhead.' Then I heard Father Lawrence aloud, “You must not tempt me, my child. Get thee behind me, Satan. In all honor, I must not enjoy what you so graciously offer until the night of your initiation.”

    “But at least,” Marisia spoke more lightly now, “you will let me suck it, won't you, my father? It is so big and hard, and I am dying to do it. After all, didn't I help Laurette with her old husband so he could fuck her?”

    “Be still, you naughty little vixen! You must not speak aloud of such things, for ignorant passers-by might neither believe that you are a novice nor I a priest. Let us save such discussions for more private and intimate moments. Tonight at the inn at Calais we shall talk more of what is and what shall be expected of you, my child.”

    The carriage took Marisia and Father Lawrence along the broad highway on to the port from which they would take the vessel bringing them to London, where Dick Whittington heard the bells telling him he would one day be Lord Mayor.

    When they alighted from the carriage, the hostelboy from the inn where they were to put up for the night informed them that the good ship Bonaventura on which they were to have passage would probably not set sail until the next evening at high tide, since there had been reports of strong gales all along the Channel. Hence, sailing at dawn, as they originally intended, would be impossible.

    “Very well,” said Father Lawrence cheerfully. “Man proposes, but God always disposes. Tell your master that my ward and I will therefore enjoy his hospitality until the ship is ready to set sail.”

    Upon entering the inn, the landlord welcomed Father Lawrence with many a “Vocre Reverence” and Father Lawrence graciously thanked him in his native tongue. Discovering that this tall, ascetic-looking Englishman who wore the cloth of the Faith spoke excellent French, the landlord waxed more and more genial, promising to outdo himself with the supper sent up to Father Lawrence and his lovely ward. He had his own daughter, a comely baggage named Georgette, take Father Lawrence's valise and escort him to the best room on the second floor of their little establishment. I did not see her, to be sure, but I say that she was a comely baggage because these were exactly the words Father Lawrence used to whisper in her ear when she had deposited the valise, his ward and himself in their chamber. To this term of admiration he added, “Georgette, you are quite fetching, and this is still my vacation from my spiritual duties. If you have no suitor or fiance, I should relish the opportunity to walk with you in the moonlight here tonight and tell you how charming I find you.”

    At this the landlord's daughter giggled and whispered back, “Oh, mon Dieu, you make me shiver all over, Votre Grace!”

    “But you give me too grandiose a title, Georgette. What you have just called me is suitable for a duke or count or marquis. I am but a humble man of the Church, and I am bound for London on the morrow.”

    “Still and all,” the sly jade riposted, “Your Eminence looks to me to be a man who knows his way about with a poor, helpless girl like myself. Your Eminence is so different from the kind of men who frequent my father's inn and are always trying to pinch my bottom.”

    “And now you endow me with the title one gives a Cardinal of the Church,” he chuckled. Then he did something which made her squeal, for Georgette instantly gasped, “You are the very devil himself! You have pinched my bottom in a way that no man ever has before. I will certainly go walking with you in the moonlight – or anywhere else you choose.”

    “Where shall I find you?” he murmured.

    “In the winecellar at midnight,” Georgette whispered back. “But now I must go, because Papa needs me in the kitchen to prepare your supper.”

    “Till midnight, then, my beautiful Georgette.” I heard Father Lawrence clap his hands and begin to hum a bawdy ditty which he had learned in the village of Languecuisse. It had to do with the fickleness of womankind, and the words went something like this:

    In the fields of Languecuisse, tra-la-la,

    I go hunting for Bernice, tra-la-la.

    For my cock demands surcease, tra-la-la,

    From the cunny of Bernice, tra-la-la.

    She is blonde, with plump thighs, tra-la-la,

    Which are just the ideal size, tra-la-la,

    And her cunnylips are soft and pink, tra-la-la,

    And she fucks me like a mink, tra-la-la.

    Now, alas, I've found Bernice, tra-la-la,

    Getting herself another piece, tra-la-la,

    Between her thighs my friend Tom lies, tra-la-la,

    Stealing from me her pussy's paradise, tra-la-la.

    But I bethink myself of Jane, tra-la-la,

    Tom's little wife who walks the lane, tra-la-la.

    So I strolling with her go, tra-la-la,

    To a trysting-place I know, tra-la-la.

    Soon her creamy flesh is bare, tra-la-la,

    And I see her cunt's thick black hair, tra-la-la,

    Now my prick has found surcease, tra-la-la,

    And I do not miss Bernice, tra-la-la.

    I could foretell that Marisia's virginity would be safe this night at the inn at Calais. Father Lawrence intended to say farewell to La Belle France by way of fucking his landlord's daughter.

    The supper was rich indeed, judging from the priest's loud praises and Marisia's enthusiastic avowals. There was a bottle of the finest Burgundy, which he doled out to her in only a few sips, saying to her, “You see, my daughter, when one is a novice, one must progress slowly in all things. Just so with good food and wine, one must not overdo at the outset till one knows one's capabilities. And that is true also in fucking, my dear child. You must but let me be your Father Confessor as well as your guardian in all matters of the flesh, and you cannot possibly go astray. And now it is time for you to go to sleep, my dear child, for perhaps on the morrow we may take a stroll about Calais until there are signs that our ship will sail. Go put on your nightshift and we will kneel down and say our prayers together.”

    A few moments later, Marisia having doubtless complied with her guardian's order, the two of them knelt side by side at the broad bed, a facet which Father Lawrence commented on as proof of the landlord's exquisite hospitality to his patrons. He made her say a prayer for her redemption and for her eternal happiness, and then one in gratitude for the spiritual home to which she was being taken. And finally one for his clear-headed wisdom in deciding always what would be the best course of action for her. Having done this, he murmured, “Now hurry into bed and pull the sheets up over you, my daughter, for the sight of your charming backside and the downy shadow of your pussyhairs through this thin shift almost makes me forget that I am your Father Confessor. I bid you goodnight, Marisia.”

    Still wearing his cassock, and with me inside his pocket, he went downstairs to imbibe with the landlord a glass or two of that fiery apple brandy known as Calvados. The spirits loosened his tongue and made him still more jovial – doubtless in zestful anticipation of Georgette's appetizing charms later that night, when her father would be snoring away in his own bed – and he entertained his host with several ribald tales from the Decameron. It was evident that the good landlord, despite being French to the core, had heard none of these lewd tales, for he found each of them uproariously witty, and he clapped Father Lawrence on the back and wished the ecclesiastic might remain with him for more than one day and night.

    “Why, so do I, my good friend. But now I must take my constitutional, and walk about under the stars and commune with nature before I sleep. I wish you a good night and pleasant dreams,” Father Lawrence explained. He took his constitutional indeed, and once again I found myself rudely jiggled up and down, back and forth, within the confines of my metal prison. The irony of it was that each time I moved this way or that, the tickling strands of Laurette's pussyhairs followed me and reminded me only too well that my unwitting jailer who was on his way to an encounter with a different shade of pussyhairs, shrouding no doubt quite as appetizing a pair of pussylips as Laurette's.

    Georgette was waiting for him in the winecellar, and with a cry of joy she flung her arms about his neck and pressed herself tightly against him. His hands moved over her body, for I felt his cassock tighten and again launch me into interminable journeyings within that short metal scope which was now my home.

    “Oh, hurry, hurry, Your Eminence,” Georgette panted, “take off your clothes and let me see your bee que!”

    “With right good will, my daughter,” Father Lawrence laughed, “but do you do likewise, so we shall be as one, yet neither of us having any distinction over the other save only that in the divergence of our sex.”

    “There, I am all naked now, Your Eminence. Do you like me?” Georgette naively purred.

    “You are bewitching, my daughter; such big round titties so proudly standing out, offering their ripe strawberries at the centers for my lips and fingers and tongue,” he praised her. “Such a darling belly with its deep, wide oasis meant for the titillation of my tongue, or even the nuzzling of my prickhead. And that cunny, so mysteriously hidden from my eager eyes with those darkbrown lovecurls which I am longing to press asunder so that I may gaze upon the jewel of your being!”

    “Oh, hurry then, push them asunder quickly then, for my cunny is burning for your great becque!” she implored.

    I had been bounced about rudely when Father Lawrence had undressed, for he had hung his cassock over a wine cask, and the thud of the locket against the wood had nearly startled the wits out of me, as well as momentarily deafening me. However, I could not mistake the sounds that then ensued. The groans, the sighs, the tremolo of a young woman's voice in the seventh heaven of carnal rapture: “Ahhh, how good it is inside my con! Oh, harder, deeper, Your Eminence, fuck me harder! It has been so long since I have been fucked by any man. Oh, Your Eminence, though I must wait on all the men who come to this place, my wretch of a father watches over me like a hawk, and frowns on any man who so much as dares to pinch my bottom. Pinch it now, Your Eminence, put your fingers inside the little hole there, too. Aiiii – oh, yes, yes – that is heaven itself!”

    “Why, you are easily satisfied, my daughter, since I have not even yet begun to fuck you properly. Now be silent and let me show you how we English differ from your French fornicators in our ability to prolong the delightful art,” the good Father soothed. Thereupon he must have begun an agile journey back and forth inside Georgette's burning cunthole, judging by her sighs and stifled shrieks, and then I heard a simultaneous groan of ecstasy which told me that each of them had found their own special paradise of prick and pussy united in rapture.

    But at least Marisia's virginity was safe. She would leave France a virgin. I did not think she would remain such for long, once she had arrived at the seminary to which this intrepid and tireless English ecclesiastic had been assigned.


    Despite his energetic nocturnal peregrinations, Father Lawrence wakened from his no doubt happy and fully appeased slumbers not much later than dawn. I know this because, although I was still dolefully locked in my tiny metal prison, the good Father betook himself downstairs to the dining room of the inn and seated himself heavily at a table. The violent jolt which occurred when his sinewy posterior came into contact with his chair served to waken me in turn. Thereupon I heard him smack his hand upon the table and exclaim in stentorian tones “Hola! Is there anyone about? The sun has already risen in the heavens, the winds blow angrily across the Channel, and here am I, a lonely English priest, in need of sustenance before I leave your fair shores!”

    A few moments later, I heard a bustling from a distance and then the sound of hurrying footsteps, and next the landlord's meek and deferential voice: “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I did not know your habits. For the most part, my clientele does not breakfast here, but takes only the dejeuner and the evening meal.”

    “It is small wonder, then, that Old Boney lost his most important battle to the Duke of Wellington,” Father Lawrence answered in a jovial tone. “Why, man, without the first meal of the day the staunchest of mortals is likely to feel faint, to have a clouding of the brain, a torpor of the blood, a flux of the liver and, in a word, lose all that vital sanguinity which stirs the senses to the most audacious feasts of valor and of virtue. But since I have roused you from your drowsy bed, good landlord, and hence, to work. First, though, what news is there of the Channel?”

    “The very worse, I fear, Your Eminence,” the landlord continued to flatter the English ecclesiastic. “The waters are whipped by a northerly wind, and it is not yet safe for a vessel to leave the docks.”

    “No matter,” Father Lawrence remarked in right good humor, “so long as the winds and the water becalm themselves by eventide, when my frail and trusting ward and I shall embark for my native land. So much for that. What fare have you for a hungry man this dawning?”

    What a rogue of parts was this estimable Father Lawrence! I infinitely preferred him to the guileful and stealthy fat French prelate of the little hamlet which we had just quitted. How unblushingly unabashed he was, of a truth. Here he sat, haranguing his host, when but a few hours ago he had enjoyed the most licentious fornication with the landlord's only daughter! But I perceived his tack: by the very means of his loud and compelling speech, Father Lawrence utterly banished the vaguest hints his host might have conjectured as to the possibility of a clandestine tryst between his charming baggage of a daughter and this cheerful priest. For surely, if the ordinary man were to engage in a bout of fucking with so winsome and passionately complaisant a wench as this Georgette, he would surely show some signs of fatigue so early on the morning after the consummation of his desires. Evidently, Father Lawrence's vacation in the heart of Provence had so thoroughly rested him and imbued him with boundless energy that he showed not the faintest sign of any lassitude which all to many men display after their cocks have emitted ample tributary flow in homage of the Goddess Venus.

    “I shall have to prepare your repast myself, I fear,” the landlord apologized. “If you will not be too demanding, I shall try to appease Your Eminence's hunger with an omelette, into which I shall stir some savory morsels of jambon, some crusty bread and, of course, our best wine.”

    “Well, well, it will do for the nonce,” Father Lawrence agreed. “But bring it quickly, and first of all the wine. I have journeyed here from a little village where the harvest of the grapes taught me that when the fruit is sweetest and ripest, it must be plucked.”

    “Your Eminence is surely wise, and how well Your Eminence speaks our beautiful language,” the landlord propitiated him.

    “You must never believe, my good host,” my unsuspecting jailer retorted with a hearty laugh, “that because a man wears the black cassock and hat of Mother Church, he must needs be a lackluster, sorrowful creature forever at his beads and paternosters. As for myself, I manage to enjoy all the pleasures that life can provide a man still in his fettle, and yet I do not slacken one whit in my spiritual tithes to those parishioners who depend upon me for comfort and guidance. Indeed, were I to remain on your shores, I might well turn my hand to converting those who may still believe that he who wears the black raiment of the holy order is certain to be a gloomy pessimist who takes no comfort from such things as good wine, good food and the pleasure of hearing the timid confessions of nervous females. Bring me your best wine, then, my good host, and share a glass with me to drink a toast to the honesty of the priesthood!”

    “With the greatest of pleasure, Your Grace,” the landlord exclaimed, and again I heard the scurrying of feet as he undoubtedly hastened to fetch the bottle which had been requisitioned.

    It would have been the most exquisite of ironies if the landlord's daughter had now appeared on the scene to serve her father's guest who was one and the same man who had fucked her so imperiously but a few hours hence. And since the charming Georgette was at least half the age of Father Lawrence, one would ordinarily have assumed that her resilience and durability would have been twice as great, so that she would have been upon the scene at an even earlier hour. But such was not the case. The toast was drunk, and then the landlord hastened off again to prepare the omelette with bits of tender ham, which he presently set piping hot before his honored guest.

    From the movement of Father Lawrence's arms and shoulders which had their eventual effect upon me in my locket-prison, I was certain that he was attacking his food with the same exemplary vitality which his massive and stalwart cock had displayed in prying into Georgette's hot, churning cunthole.

    At any rate, he must have done full justice to the ample breakfast served him by his obsequious host, for the landlord remarked that it did his heart a great pleasure to watch a patron take food and drink with such gusto.

    Father Lawrence popped this off by remarking, “it has always been my philosophy, Monsieur my host, to show gratitude for the blessings, however temporal, which the Good Lord sends to us poor sinners. The trick is, to be sure, to have the wisdom and the integrity to distinguish between those bounties which are the Lord's and those which come from Caesar or Mammon. Too many of us, I fear, are led astray because we cannot divine the demarcation line between virtue and vice.”

    Again, despite my deplorable situation, I found amusement in his pithy commentaries by which he unabashedly justified whatever he enjoyed doing. The fact was that I had begun to believe that he actually credenced his very own words, and hence entered into the spirit as well as the act with a zest of gusto which the French innkeeper had already discerned.

    I anticipated that he would require a constitutional after so hearty a repast, and such was exactly the case. Nothing would do but that he must walk through the cobbled streets of Calais to continue this thorough leave-taking of la belle France. He made numerous stops along the way, doubtless to peer into shop-windows, and each time I was jiggled about most rudely in the metal locket. I reflected that perhaps this was my own temporal punishment, this being incarcerated in a nest of silken pussyhairs, to remind me that I had spent so many of my days and nights in the most intimate association with that kind of verdure, both of the male and female species. Perhaps the Lord of Fleas was sermonizing me for my curious penchant. And I must confess that by now I was so saturated with the perfumed distillation of Laurette's golden lovedown that I longed to be elsewhere if only for a change of scent and venue as well.

    The good Father Lawrence stopped at last for quite a long time, so that I wondered what new vistas as pleasure he was contemplating all this while. I suddenly heard a man accost him in short French: “Would M'sieu desire a little entertainment, early though it be in the day? The sky is so dark and the wind is so tumultuous, ma foi, that it might as well be night, being the proper time for such diversions as I can offer M'sieu.”

    “Do you speak of fleshy enticement, my good sir?” The English ecclesiastic at once demanded.

    “Je parle de l'amour,” was the reply.

    “You speak of love, do you? Is this a free dispensation, or is there a tariff placed upon it?” my unsuspecting jailer pursued.

    “But nothing in life that is really worthwhile is free, M'sieu l'Anglais.”

    “It grieves me to hear you speak in such an unenlightened manner, my unknown friend,” Father Lawrence retorted in flawless French, “because I could stand here till doomsday and expound unnumerable joys which are part of our daily lot and which do not cost as so much as a sou or a centime. As an example, I give you the simple pleasure of spitting or clearing one's throat or blowing one's nose. There is no tax on any of these manifestations, yet each provides an exquisite pleasure at the moment. But to get down to particulars, what had you in mind when you spoke to me, recognizing me as you did as English and a stranger to your historic city?”

    “It so happens, M'sieu, that in my Christian charity I have allowed two pretty young sisters from the country to occupy my room. They had come to Calais to seek their brother, who was a sailor on one of the vessels which put forth from our docks, sometimes to carry cargo, other times to war upon our enemies. Unhappily, they learned that their brother had been captured when his ship was boarding Algerian pirates off the coast of Gibraltar. They wept and implored me to help them earn the passage money which would take them to go before the Bey of Algiers to intercede for their brother's release. He is so badly needed to till the soil back at their old mother's firm in Beaulieu, that they would willingly sacrifice themselves in his exchange.”

    “Now this is truly a marvel of Christian martyrdom,” Father Lawrence rejoined. And since I spend my last hours of vacation before I begin my new assignment in London, I would be happy to contribute alms to so praiseworthy a venture. I have but one question to ask of you: has* either of them the French or Italian pox?”

    I heard the Frenchman utter a gasp of horror which, whether feigned or not, sounded utterly convincing: 'Mordieu! I would not dare to offer to M'sieu tainted merchandise, for that would be against the basic law of hospitality to foreigners.”

    “From what I have observed in my few travels,” Father Lawrence somewhat dryly observed, “that is generally the last law which is adhered to. But no matter. Though I wear the cassock of my holy order, I am a man of parts sufficiently to discover for myself whether a young female is or is not afflicted so heinously. Take me to these two charming sisters, then, mon bon garcon!”

    Once again my rude buffeting resumed, which told me that the good Father was striding onward in the company of the man who had accosted him. It was not a long walk, but I was thoroughly sick of my prison by this time, as you may well imagine. I decided that despite my over-familiarity with Laurette's cunny-fleece, it was the lesser of two evils rather than not to have it all, since it shielded me somewhat, and I am lean by flea-ish standards and am therefore more prone to hurt when I am rudely jostled.

    “If M'sieu will do me the honor of going up this one flight of stairs, I will lead him to the demoiselles.” the Frenchman purred.

    “I am glad that you did not say pucelles instead,” was the good Father's sardonic riposte, “for that would indicate that you were trying to palm them off on me as pure virgins, when you are simply attempting to make them whore for your fee.”

    “Ah, but that is an insult! Does M'sieu take me for a macquereau?”

    I do not take you for anything, my good fellow, but I simply wish to make sure that you do not take me,” was the taunting rebuke which Father Lawrence administered.

    I then felt him ascend the stairs, the pocket of his cassock moving energetically as he took them resolutely – precisely the way he fucked or ate. There was nothing indecisive about my unsuspecting jailer, and a grudging admiration for him had already been born in my somewhat cynical heart.

    “At this door, M'sieu,” the man said disdainfully, obviously irked by Father Lawrence's intonation that he was nothing more than a pimp.

    I heard the turn of the knob of a door, I followed Father Lawrence willy-nilly, and then he stopped and stood still. “They are indeed enchanting. Leave us now, that I may hear their confession and determine what bounty will best serve them both in their sorrowful circumstances,” he told the man.

    “But, M'sieu, we have not yet discussed my fee.”

    “Nor will we, by all that is holy, until I have had an opportunity to listen to their story and to decide for myself whether it is what you have prompted and concocted or whether it comes from their very heart.”

    And he added: “You have but to look at me to see that you will not be cheated, if a fee is indeed due for having led me to two deserving souls.”

    There was a pause, and then the door closed with something of a slam. Father Lawrence had once again proved himself the master of a complicated situation. And then he spoke, his voice kindly and soothing, in a tone he seemed to reserve for the female ear rather than for the male's: “I speak your language, Mademoiselles. You have no need to fear me. I depart this night for London where I shall be attached to a holy seminary. I was told that you were in great need of aid.”

    “Why, that is indeed true, M'sieu,” replied a charming voice that was elegantly low-pitched and retained a quality of huskiness which many men, I have found, find titillating to their cocks because it suggests the most lascivious intimacies between the sheets.

    “Is it true that your brother has been abducted by the Bey of Algiers?” Father Lawrence pursued.

    “Oui, oui, c'est bien vrai,” the low, husky voice told him with an effusive emotion that it could not conceal. “We had come, you must understand, from our little village where we and Jean, our brother, were born. We found at the docks a grizzled sailor who had been saved from shipwreck when the wicked Algerian pirates had attacked. He told us that poor Jean was seized by a dozen of the swarthy Moors and borne off onto their pirate ship, which then at once set sail. This sailor told us that the vessel of the pirates flew the flag of the mighty Bey, who is the scourge of all honest French and English seafarers. So Louisette and I, whose name is Denise, vowed that we would go to Algiers and on our knees implore that sovereign to take pity on our youth and purity and to accept us instead of Jean as his slaves.”

    “From my first glimpse of you charming demoiselles,” Father Lawrence gallantly interposed, “my opinion is that the Bey would be vastly over-reimbursed for such an exchange. There would be two of you to your brother's one, which in itself would not be fair dealing. But since each of you is breathtakingly delicious, you would actually not so much be sacrificing yourselves as paying the Bey an unheard-of price to redeem your brother.”

    “We are honest girls, M'sieu, even though we are but fifteen years old. Denise is my twin, but I am the older by an hour from my mother's womb,” Louisette now vouchsafed.

    “Not yet your twin, since there is such a divergence in the two of you,” Father Lawrence declared. “And what enchanting contrast do my wind-sore eyes behold in you. You, Denise, with wheat-colored hair that falls to your waist and whose fringe of curls form a Gothic arch over your pristine and lovely forehead, with the pale pink skin which is so appetizingly fresh. And your sister Louisette, whose hair is the color of copper and falls even longer, nearly to her graciously rounded hips, yet of slimmer waist and longer legs though my vision is impaired. And her skin is the hue of rich, thickly curdled cream. But what was this man to you, my daughters? You may confide in me as you would to your own spiritual pere.”

    “You are an English priest? Oh, how good it is to come upon a man of righteousness in a wicked city like Calais,” the husky-voiced Denise, exclaimed. “The man, who told us that his name was Edouard Daradier, saw us talking with the old sailor who had been with poor Jean. He offered us lodging and food and drink until we could find some charitable sea captain to take us on to Gibraltar, where we could make communication with one of the Bey's agents and implore an audience with that despotic lord.”

    “He has not yet put you to any employment, my daughters?”

    “He did say,” Louisette, who had been quite silent up to now, piped up, “that we had already cost him ten francs for our keep in these past three days, and that this night he would require us to earn our keep and to recompense him for what he has already spent. He wishes to bring men here to caress and fondle us.”

    “Oh, oh the wicked, shameless rogue!” Father Lawrence thundered, sounding like an avenging angel. “It is well that I dismissed him, for were he in my presence now, I should smite him as David smote Goliath and let him totter from his false pedestal of charity and mercy which he professed to me not a few moments ago. Oh, my daughters, it is providence that brings me to you. Will you not accompany me and my ward Marisia to England so that you may take shelter and refuge in the holy seminary where I shall labor to save souls? There, I am certain that the Father Superior, when he hears of your misfortunes, will find some way to restore your brother Jean to you.”

    “Oh, that would be so wonderful, and we should be so grateful, mon pere!” cried husky-voiced Denise.

    “Then come, my daughters. We will go back to the inn where I am lodging and will further discuss your new life. Have no fear of this man who sought to earn money from your lovely flesh. He will be eternally damned. Now come.”

    Without any demurral, the young sisters followed Father Lawrence downstairs. Outside the door, he was momentarily halted by the French pimp – for I mistake not that this man was precisely that – but Father Lawrence thundered forth so vitriolic a sermon on the veniality of sinful man (adding that he would call the gendarmes) that the man ran off rather than stand up to this stout-hearted English ecclesiastic.

    “Each of you take an arm of mine, my children,” Father Lawrence said benevolently, “and we shall walk down the streets of Calais with smiles upon our faces, and with joy and humility in my heart that I have brought two more souls to the fold of righteousness.”


    If this were a political treatise instead of an autobiography of a humble insect who has accumulated powers of perceptions and imagination far beyond his nominal rank in the animal kingdom, I might declare at this point that Father Lawrence's acquisition of the two charming sisters was little short of a coup d'etat.

    But actually the worthy English ecclesiastic had, within the short space of a few hours since setting foot for the first time in Calais, ensured a tumultuous welcome from, and acceptance by, his future colleagues of the cloth at St. Thaddeus. No mater what the rules of seniority or, for that matter, noblesse oblige, there could be no doubt whatsoever that when he presented himself at the doors of the Seminary at London, benevolently ushering in three such mouth-watering morsels as Marisia, Denise, and Louisette, even the most dour and hostile priest of that establishment could not but beam upon him for his good works in procuring as adornments within their cloistered walls such tasty tidbits of virginal femininity.

    And for me, though the possibility was only hypothetical (for if I did not find some way of egress out of that accursed locket, I should inevitably perish), this latest accomplishment of the good Fathers would compel me to ponder before deciding in whose virtuous behalf to exercise my wits, my guile, and my own little arsenal of salvationary tricks. Since I was destined to return to St. Thaddeus unless some minor miracle should occur (such as the unforeseen opening of Laurette's locket), I must contrive some means to justify my existence in that all too familiar haven of holiness, even though I had once fled its boundaries and believed I should never again behold it.

    Since it was plain that I needed distraction during the time it would take the good Father to journey from Calais to London, I decided to soliloquize over the future which awaited these three young graces. Since I was so entranced with France where the language is still of infinite nuances and adroit shades of meaning, I amused myself for a few moments by remarking these three graces would undoubtedly be in no position to beg grace when His Grace decided that his carnal appetites brought him to the time of saying grace before feasting on all three. In a word, dear reader, that little play on words translated simply down to the premise that these three virgins could not long expect to retain their virginity once Father Lawrence had them safely cloistered at St. Thaddeus.

    Once again, the problem was theoretical, to be sure. I was aware that Marisia was a wise virgin, which is to say that while she had played lascivious little games with her dear Tante Laurette for the purpose of thwarting the lustful yearnings of old Monsieur Villiers in his aim of plucking Laurette's cherry, her dainty cunny had not yet been visited to the hilt by a male prick, and thus her maidenhead was still intact. She was virgin Prima fasciae.

    However, neither I nor Father Lawrence could yet be quite certain that his two latest acquisitions (who were to find themselves diverted from their intended journeying to Algiers to discover that in being reunited with their abducted brother, Jean, they would have to go by way of St. Thaddeus and many a bedding) were actually untouched maidens. And after I had concluded all this, I further amused myself by conjecturing just how long it would take the good Father to determine their state of purification or lack of it.

    It was far sooner than I had expected.

    One must remember that it was still early on the final day of Father Lawrence's sojourn in la belle France. And having observed him – as well as heard him now when I could not see him – at his diligences, I could no longer be thunderstruck at any of his lay achievements. I had yet, it was true, to hear him preach a sermon from the pulpit. On the other hand, I was well-acquainted with his homilies when the pulpit was a cot or trundle-bed occupied by a flirtatious minx.

    At any rate, with a girl clinging to each arm, he made his way back down the street to the inn whose owner's daughter had already heard at least one of these intimate sermons. On the way, he soothingly quieted their timorous doubts concerning whether by striking out across the Channel they were not geographically going farther away from their kidnapped brother than if they had managed to stow away on a ship bound for Gibraltar. “My daughters,” he assured them, “what I said to that villainous fellow just now was gospel truth. We at St. Thaddeus – and I say 'we' solely because, although I am but newly assigned to that order, I have already heard the most glowing reports of their righteous works – have as our motto that what is worth achieving is worth sacrificing for.”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” Louisette replied in a clear sweet voice, “my sister and I are ready to make any sacrifice whatsoever if only we may find our dear brother once more and go back with him to our little farm in Beaulieu.”

    “C'est bien vrai,” Denise agreed in her provocatively husky voice, “there is nothing Louisette and I wouldn't do if only to see Jean once more.”

    If I had been gifted with the powers of ventriloquism, I might have, irreverently, at this point, interjected the cynical comment that it was very likely that they would be called upon to sacrifice everything they had, once inside the walls of St. Thaddeus, then it would be required of them to have the patience and fortitude of veritable young saints if they expected that through graciously obliging fucking they would see the face of their lost brother. Quite conversely, they were most likely to see the faces of a dozen or more lubricious and sturdy priests intent upon comforting their sisterly sorrow by offering the view of a turgidly veined and throbbing prick by way of proxy for the visage of their adored brother.

    “Only a man of stone,” Father Lawrence observed, “could turn a deaf ear to such fervent applications. But here we are at this modest little inn which my ward and I occupy till this evening. Our good host, I feel certain, will provide a separate room so that you two may be together. Of course I will go with you to make certain that you are properly and hospitably installed, and then I wish to hear your confessions, as I have already mentioned.”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” Denise murmured, “I can swear that Louisette and I have been very good girls since we left Beaulieu to come in search of poor Jean.”

    “We shall see, my daughter. Goodness is not only a state of the flesh, but a state of mind which surmounts the weak, frail body which houses our spirit. Besides, if what I suspect is true, you are both yet too innocent and too young to know what sin truly is, which makes it all the more imperious that I should warn you of its dangers, my daughters.”

    The landlord now appeared, obsequious as ever, and Father Lawrence directly requisitioned a room for his two new protegees, saying in a lordly manner, “You will add this to my reckoning, my good host. And in about an hour, have your charming daughter bring these forsaken waifs a bowl of nourishing soup, some crusty bread and good cheese to fortify them for the journey across the Channel.”

    “It shall be done exactly as you wish it, your Grace,” the landlord exclaimed. I heard him stride to the back of the room, and call out in a loud voice the name of his baggage of a daughter. But I did not have the chance to hear the conversation that ensued between them, since Father Lawrence was already urging Denise and Louisette up the stairs to their new quarters. “Later, after you have made your confession and then partaken of nourishment and enjoyed a refreshing little nap, my little daughters,” he told them, “I shall introduce you to my young ward Marisia who, like yourselves, first saw the light of day in this beautiful land of the fleur-de-lis. The three of you will, I pray, become inseparable companions and thus give each other joy and at the same time, for the two of you, Denise and Louisette, the humility and docility which it will be required of you to demonstrate before you can expect to see your brother Jean freed by the rapacious Bey of Algiers. Ah, a charming large room, with a view of the harbor. It is a pity that the rain has begun to fall again and that the skies are leaden, but remember, my daughters, in the moment of greatest adversity and when all seems dark, the sun is certain to cast its warm, benevolent rays once again!”

    Father Lawrence now proceeded to ask the two sisters if they had informed those dearest to them whither they were bound. “Oh, no,” Denise at once replied.

    “But that was selfish, my dear child,” he rebuked her, “for your mother will grieve and think you dead, not knowing the valorous reason that made the two of you run away from home.”

    “He's right, Denise,” Louisette thoughtfully interposed, and the charming Denise said somewhat sulkily, “Well, it was really your idea, and Maman was out in the fields and there was no time to tell her if we wanted to ride in the cart with Guillaume.”

    “And who is this Guillaume, my child?” Father Lawrence queried.

    “He is the son of the farmer next to us, mon Pere,” Denise replied. “He is only two years older than we are, but very shy. Indeed, it was Louisette who had to convince him how important it was for us to reach Calais. And besides, he was a good friend to our brother and wished him back. That was why he agreed to help us run away.”

    “But if, as you say, my daughter, this Guillaume is shy in the presence of young demosielles like you, how was it that he was induced to aid you?'

    I heard Louisette giggle, and then Denise interposed somewhat petulantly, “You should be ashamed of yourself, naughty one!' And after that Louisette indignantly retorted, “I did not ask you for your opinion, Denise!”

    “Tut, tut, my daughters, bickering such as this is exactly how Cain and Abel made history. I think, moreover, it is time for our little confession. And since you are the older by chronology, Louisette, I shall begin with you. Denise, if you will go down the hall two doors and then knock three times at the third door, you will meet my ward, Marisia. Tell her that you are going with her to St. Thaddeus and that it was my wish for the two of you to become acquainted. When it is time for your confession, my daughter, I will send your sister after you.”

    “Oui, mon Pere.”

    I then heard the door open and close and knew that Father Lawrence was alone with Louisette.

    “And now, my child,” he said in a kindly tone, “you are to tell me all there is to know about this Guillaume. Do you-not see, my daughter, that in many a court of law, he would be accused as your willing accomplice if what you have done was against the tenets of propriety.”

    “I only told him, mon Pere, that Denise and I had to find Jean and that we were going on a journey. Besides, I asked him to wait until nightfall and then tell Maman why we had done what we had done.”

    “I see. That somewhat mitigates your thoughtlessness. Well, now, understanding that your mother is not in terror that you two may have come to an evil end, how was it that you managed to convince this young man that he should aid you in leaving your dear mother on such an exploit?”

    “I – I told him I would let him kiss me when we got to Calais, mon Pere,” Louisette faltered.

    “And did you keep that promise, my daughter?”

    “Y-yes, mon Pere. Not once, but several times. But I let him, you see, because he is very handsome and yet he blushes like a girl whenever he is in the presence of one. I wanted to let him feel like a man, so I gave him more than was in the bargain.”

    “Well, although that was a slight sin, it surely did not have evil as its motivation, but rather compassion. I will remember that when it comes time to give you your penance, my daughter. Go on.”

    “But – but there's nothing more to tell, mon Pere. He bade us a fortunate journey and told me to bring his best wishes to Jean when we saw him. And then he drove back to Beaulieu.”

    “Had you ever before that time let Guillaume kiss you, my daughter?”

    What a court prosecutor the good Father Lawrence would have made had he turned his talents of rhetoric and persuasiveness to that profession! But I could see his tact. Gently and yet cunningly, like a guide who takes you by the sleeve in an unknown city and leads you where he will without your once being aware that he has his reasons for the route he takes, Father Lawrence was determining the extent of Louisette's maidenliness… or lack of it, to be sure!

    “N – not really, mon Pere,” Louisette faltered.

    “My child,” he said gravely, “you see me now in my black cassock and hat of Mother Church. You as penitent are come to the confessional, and it lies heavily upon your immortal soul to speak the truth, without shame – for there is shame in deception and concealment, since expiation is granted those who have sinned and yet have heart to avow it – and so you must not dissemble with me. Was that the first time you and he had kissed, my daughter?”

    There was a slight pause, and then in a voice so faint I could scarcely make it out, Louisette breathed a calm, “No, mon Pere.”

    “Ah, that is better, my daughter. You have already taken the first step away from perdition. So how long had you and this rascal of a Guillaume exchanged sweet busses and clippings and sighings, like two doves who play at mating though they are not yet ready for it?”

    “For – for about a year, mon Pere. But it was not in sin, mon Pere, because I had hoped that he would become my betrothed. I wished to wed with him perhaps in another year. And though he is shy, mon Pere, I like this because he does not make eyes at other girls or try to pinch them the way Michel Devrier, who is fat and stupid and smells bad always from the stable, always tries to do.”

    “I admire your frankness, my daughter. But had you gone farther than the chaste kiss in all this while?”

    “I – I am still a maiden, mon Pere.”

    “That was not what I asked you, my dear child,” Father Lawrence said reprovingly. “Remember, the confession is not yet over. The truth, my daughter!”

    And at that moment, I believed he might have been the reincarnation of the famous Torquemada, that baleful familiar of the Holy Inquisition, before whose terrible powers of denunciation and persuasion no heretic dared stand. His voice had taken on a timbre of grandiloquence, and Louisette must have been properly impressed, for her next answer came in a kind of little gasp: “I swear we didn't play at husband and wife, mon Pere!”

    “Then you are truly virgin?”

    “Oh yes, mon Pere!”

    “And if you have just now told me the truth, Louisette, it can do no harm to tell me the rest of it. What playful games did you and Guillaume indulge in during this past year of your understanding shall we say?”

    “Why, mon Pere, he – he sometimes would kiss my neck and my bare arm, and sometimes, when I got him to be very bold, and to give up his blushing, he would put his hand on my knee.”

    “Under your kirtle or outside it, my daughter?”

    There was a short pause, and then a stammered little gasp: “U – under it, mon Pere, but only for a little time and not as high as my culottes,” (This, dear reader, meant that Guillaume's hand had not quite reached her pussy, which the dear child kept shielded in her virgin estate with a pair of drawers doubtless made of some cheap cotton, since only fine ladies and not farmers' offspring have the wherewithal to purchase undergarments of silk.)

    “I applaud your candor, my daughter. And now let me speak even more frankly, and you must do the same. Have you or Guillaume ever watched the mating of the beasts in the field?”

    “Oh, yes, mon Pere, many times. His father owns a bull that is named Hercule and my Maman has Daisy, which is our only cow. And Guillaume's father last November brought Hercule to Daisy's stall. He and Maman did not see me, so I was able to watch all that took place. C'etait epatant!”

    “Oh, my daughter, what you have just said makes me shudder that you have discovered prurience at so tender an age!” he said in a grave voice. “Now tell me – and you must answer truthfully – when you saw this act of mating, can you say in all honesty that you did not desire Guillaume to attempt the same act with you? Do you know how it is that the husband and wife come together in sacred matrimony, my daughter?”

    “But of a certainty, mon Pere,” now the dear child spoke with almost wonder, as if considering it incredible that the English ecclesiastic did not deem her mature and wise enough to comprehend what fucking was.

    “And you give me your solemn word of honor that you and Guillaume have never acted out the play between Hercule and Daisy?” he relentlessly pursued.

    “Oh, never, mon Pere!” the charming Louisette gasped.

    “I am inclined to take your word, my daughter. But I would have more proof. Do you see, the Seminary at St. Thaddeus is staffed” (I very nearly burst into fleaish laughter, for the good Father had unwittingly used a word which in its utter and lascivious sense precisely designates the principle pursuit at the Seminary, namely, staff and pussy, the one into the other) “by diligent holy men who are not likely to be so indulgent with a minx as I am with you, Louisette.”

    “What proof do you wish, mon Pere?”

    “Why, to begin with, you will pretend that I am this Guillaume, and you will show me just how far you permitted him to let his sin-intending hand to ascend on your fair limbs. To give this greater verisimilitude, I shall take off my cassock and hat, so that I will look more like a man such as Guillaume himself is, though admittedly I am far older. There, I am ready. Now, so that we may have the exact duplication of the scene which the two of you played, tell me this: were the two of you sitting or lying upon the ground or in a bed of straw in the barn?”

    “Why, Father, sometimes both.”

    “Oh, my child, then this has happened more than once?”

    “Of course, mon Pere. After all, Guillaume was to be my betrothed. And in Beaulieu there are other very pretty girls who would steal him away from me if they could and who would have given him even more than I did, so I did not think it was wrong to hold him to me by such innocent little devices.”

    I perceived here that the charming Louisette was in her own way as purposeful and guileful as good Father Lawrence, and I silently applauded her. At least this discussion served to take my mind from the insurmountable fact of my imprisonment, and acted thus as a mental stimulant for which I was most grateful. “Well, then, my child, we shall take one or the other of these locales in our enactment of your naughtiness. Let us, for the sake of comfort, use this good bed, which is sturdy and wide, to approximate the bed of straw in the barn. Do get upon it and lie as you did when Guillaume made his advances.”

    Another moment or two followed and I heard the creaking of the bed, as the charming creature ascended it and took her place. Then I heard her call, “This is how I was on the day before Shrove Tuesday, mon Pere.”

    “Now you must show just how Guillaume behaved and in what position he was when his hand slid under your kirtle, my daughter,” Father Lawrence said, and then I heard the bed creak more noisily with his great weight and strength and he too assumed his place upon it. I was in his cassock pocket, but evidently not too far from the bed, for I could hear clearly all that proceeded.

    “It – it was like this, mon Pere. He lay on his left side towards me on my back, and he stared at my face and he blushed like a timid girl. Then I told him that if he loved me truly, he would not just stare at me but would find ways to praise me if he found me pretty.”

    “So then you were the temptress rather than he being the seducer, my daughter?”

    “Why no,” the dear child naively responded, “I did not do anything but suggest to him how he could please me. It was up to him to do it or not.”

    Father Lawrence had indeed met his match in Louisette! Her casuistry was as able as that of the most skillful heretic in all Christendom who found himself on trial for his very life at the stake, if he could not avoid the ingenious pitfalls set for him by the bevy of Grand Inquisitors. I strained my flea-ish ears so that I would not lose a single word of this fascinating conversation.

    “Well, we will let that pass for the nonce,” he said, and I thought I discerned a certain heaviness and huskiness in his voice. Also, there was another creaking of the bed which suggested that he had moved still closer to the charming Louisette. “Now show me exactly what happened next on the occasion of which you speak, my daughter.”

    “Why, Father, I had hold of his hand, which was trembling, and I moved a little closer to him while at the same time drawing his hand toward my limb till his fingertips rested on my ankle. And then I stared up at him and said that it was very pleasant to be touched by one's intended fiance.”

    “Well,” Father Lawrence thoughtfully responded, “it cannot be gainsaid that there is truth in that maxim, though from it may spring more dangerous ramifications which you yourself might never have intended. But continue, and spare not a detail of the incident, on your hope of salvation, my daughter!”

    “Well, mon Pere,” Louisette continued in her charmingly sweet, little voice, “his fingers seemed to leap away as if he were afraid of being burned. But when I said that I was not offended, presently he put his hand back again, and this time all fingers firmly, on my calf. I kissed him on the tip of his nose and I giggled and I told him that I liked him very much and that it was very pleasant to have his fingers touch me so. Whereupon he kissed me hard upon the mouth and, doubtless in his excitement, mon Pere, his hand seemed to slide upwards. Before I knew its destination, it had slid under my kirtle and along my bare thigh just to the hems of my culottes. I then grasped his hand through my kirtle and told him it was not yet seemly for him to be so bold so soon, at least not till we were properly betrothed and had our banns read from the pulpit.”

    “That was sensible and righteous, my daughter. But do not stop now, for you are at the very crux of your confession. Now, let me understand you, Louisette. You were lying thus and Guillaume – whom by now I am proxy for – was on his side towards you. It was his right hand, I presume which fell upon your dainty little limb?”

    “Oui, mon Pere.”

    “And then, from what you have just now told me, you kissed Guillaume hard on the mouth with his right hand already upon your slim ankle, like so? Well, let us repeat precisely those past actions, so that I may judge your audacity or ingenuousness, as the case may be.”

    “Oh, Father, I – I should never be so bold as to offend you!”

    “It will offend me more if you do not obey your guardian, dear Louisette. Come, kiss me now upon the mouth, and tell yourself that I am in Guillaume's place as his substitute.”

    Upon such eloquent urging, many a far more mature female than the charming Louisette had capitulated to Father Lawrence. So I was not surprised when I then heard the sound of a smacking and rather long kiss, which, knowing Father Lawrence as I did by now, I am certain that he himself prolonged and abetted. There was now a stifled little squeal as Louisette fairly gasped out, “Oh, Father, F – Father, Guillaume did not put his hand up as high as that, truly he did not! Oh, and his fingers were never inside my culottes – oh, oooh, Guillaume – I mean, Father – you must not do that, it tickles me so much that my senses begin to swim!”

    “Are you certain that this gentle young man did not, once he had found how satiny smooth the bare skin of your thigh is, dear Louisette, wish to taste with his sensitive fingers the sweetest fruit of all which nestles between those shapely limbs? Never once?”

    “Oooh, m – mon Pere, well, perhaps just once, but it was over and not inside of my culottes. And that was on the day when he swore to me that he truly wished to wed with me, last week, when I begged him to help Denise and me to reach Calais.”

    “So, my daughter, you have not been entirely honest with me, telling me at first, as you did, that it was only through the expedient of a few harmless kisses that Guillaume was willing to be your accomplice in this naughty and thoughtless escapade. Well, for your penance, since I now am not priest but man beside you, as Guillaume was, you shall have the proper conclusion of these licentious advances which you yourself contrived to bring about. And if I mistake not, Louisette, Guillaume must certainly have behaved very much as I shall now. I am going to tickle your tender little cunny, just as I am sure he either must have done or at least dreamed passionately of so doing. Ah, how delicate and dainty the lips are, and how they quiver and shrink with sensitivity though my forefinger scarcely brushes them! Oh, what is this? I feel a suspicious moisture, like the first drops of the morning dew upon the rose! And you begin to wriggle your saucy bottom on the bed as you feel my touch, do you not, Louisette? No, do not try to move away, for remember that we are enacting in full candor and unashamedly the secret tryst between you and myself who am now Guillaume!”

    “Ooo, aahh, m – mon Pere, mon – oh, Guillaume, Guillaume, I cannot stand what you are doing, it is so sweet, it is so torturing, ohhh, mon petit con, you are making me burn with longing!”

    Louisette's sweet clear voice had now taken on a huskiness not unlike Denise's. He had achieved that confession of fleshly weakness by frigging her soft virgin cunny.

    “Now, my daughter,” he continued in a voice that was hoarser than ever, “you must tell me what he did with his left hand, which in your recital seems to have been unoccupied all that while. Take your own hand and hold my left and guide it to the place which Guillaume admired on that occasion.”

    “Oh, Father, I – I shouldn't ever dare!”

    “Take care, my daughter, lest I visit severe penances upon you for all your naughty deception. Do as I order, and no harm will befall you.”

    “V – very well, mon Pere. It was here that Guillaume's left hand applied.”

    “On your tittie! Oh, the rogue, the young scoundrel! Do you not see, my daughter, that by trying to play the guileless fool Parsifal, he was ingeniously achieving the goal of Lucifer himself! Taking pity on his innocence, as your good, young girl's heart bade you do, you allowed him to take liberties with you which only a husband should take with his beloved bride, and this without declaration of the holy banns. Oh, the wretch, would that I had him here before me to scourge him for his lubricity!” thundered the English ecclesiastic.

    Then there was a moment's silence broken by the creaking of the bed and Louisette's soft, slurred moan of fleshy rapture: “Aaahhh! Oh, where have you put your finger, F – Father, oh Guillaume, you are touching my little button now, oh, I have never felt this way before, oh, oh, mon amour, do not stop now, I am going to faint with the sweet pleasure of it!”

    “Yes, dear Louisette, I am tickling your clitoris, and since I have now discovered the very key to your truest and most hidden emotions, your recital must take on the same honest display of truth. So tell me instantly, upon pain of many a penance, while Guillaume's left hand was upon your tittie, what were your own hands doing?'

    “They – they – oh, mon Pere, do not make me say it!”

    “But you must! The truth, my daughter!”

    “They – they were touching his limbs,” Louisette faltered between two long ecstatic sighs.

    “Then put those naughty little hands on my person, since I am the proxy of Guillaume.”

    “It – it was somewhat thus, mon Pere,” again she faltered.

    At the same instant, hardly before she had finished that sentence, Louisette uttered a soft cry of astonishment and then came these stirring words: “Oh, mon Pere, mon Pere, what is this I am touching? It is hot and hard and it trembles at my touch!”

    “That, my daughter, is Guillaume's prick. Confess it now, the touch of it cannot be new to you?”

    “Oh, F-Father!”

    “You must answer, for the confession has not yet concluded! Do you mean to tell me, my daughter, that your soft virgin fingers dared touch the cock of this young wretch?”

    “Oh yes, mon Pere, many times!” was Louisette's equally astonishing answer, followed by an impertinent little giggle as the minx forgot the seriousness of her situation and recalled the idyllic stolen moments with her young swain.

    “Oh, what a forward hussy, what a Lilith, what a Borgia!” he said sadly.

    “But, mon Pere, you did not ask me if I had done that. You asked me only if Guillaume and I had played husband and wife, and that I swear on my soul and on my virginity that we never did.”

    Did I not say that this Louisette was the equal of any adroit antagonist who ever faced the dread Torquemada?

    “At last we have the truth, my daughter. Righteousness has triumphed. Well, now, since we are still re-enacting the scene between you and that cunning rogue, I order you to repeat exactly, so far as your memory suffices, those things which the two of you perpetrated together. And you will tell me what you are doing as you proceed, so that I can detect the line between veracity and deception. Proceed, my daughter!”

    There was another gasp, and then Louisette stammered, “I turned a little to face him, F – Father, and my right arm went round his shoulders so that I might kiss him more freely, knowing how shy he was and thereby preventing his breaking away from me. My other hand took hold of his bite.”

    “I am not entirely familiar with that term, my daughter. Is it the same as becque?” the English ecclesiastic hoarsely demanded.

    “Oh yes, F – Father, it is one and the same thing.”

    “Go on, my daughter. Our English word for it is prick or cock or prong, but an imaginative maiden, like an imaginative suitor, may well find new terminology for the source of her greatest pleasure.”

    “I began – I began,” Louisette was plainly embarrassed, not quite being able to forget that this proxy of Guillaume was nothing more than a mere man, “to – to stroke his bite very gently so as not to frighten him. But apparently I must have done so, since almost all at once he discharged a hot burning emission into my little palm.”

    “Oh, my daughter, my daughter, that was the vital essence of life that Guillaume bestowed upon you, a veracious indication of his true intentions toward you,” Father Lawrence vehemently declaimed. Since he did not take your maidenhead, it shows that he at least has some honorable qualities to his otherwise immature nature. Well, my daughter, since I am still Guillaume beside you, perform upon me just that which you did upon him whose embodiment I am!” And now his soft voice was trembling with a fiery anticipation.

    “With – with just two fingers, at first, F – Father, I had begun to stroke him – there,” Louisette confessed in a quivering tone which showed that she too was affected by this 're-enactment.'

    “Ah, my daughter, if you continue thus, I promise you that you shall have all of my vital spunk. Or, to use another term which we English are most fond of in our graphic descriptions of such carnal joys, my gism, my seed, or my cockjuice. Oh, continue, my daughter, gently, gently, and I will show you that your Guillaume has more endurance than you dreamed of!”

    He evidently did, for it was a long moment before I heard him utter a hoarse bellow of indescribable rapture, and all the while the bed was creaking gently as Louisette was undoubtedly plying her soft slim fingers to the mighty prick of her 'proxy swain.'

    “Now, my daughter, since you have been truthful with me, and honest to the core, I will grant you dispensation and pleasure in turn. Come, hoist up your kirtle so as not to rumple it for the journey that lies ahead of us this night. Ah, what charming, slim thighs, yet so promising in their curving contours! The exquisite musculature, the satiny and breathtaking creamy skin which covers them leads my eager eyes and fingers – as was the case with my juvenile embodiment, I am certain! – towards that secretive little oasis of paradise. Ah, what a delicious pussy, what a charming, delicate – yet not too shy – adorable little cunny! How soft the little curls are which shroud it so modestly! But I cannot see them plainly enough, so you must remove your culottes. Now do not stare at me so, my daughter, for this is simply the re-enactment.”

    “But, mon Pere,” Louisette stammered, “he – he did not take down my culottes that time.”

    “What? Faithless jade, do you imply that on some other occasion which you have not yet confessed that he did descend your final veil of virginal modesty?”

    “Oh, oui, mon – mon Pete,” came a faint avowal from the exquisite Lilith.

    “Alas, my child, you have put me out of sorts by leading me along a false route for so long. But we shall correct that in another session. For the nonce, my daughter, I will remove that veil for you; have confidence in me because what I now do is done as your confessor. There – oh, just as I perceived it through the thin white cotton! A veritable oasis of bliss, soft and pink and delicate, and how fragrant!” There followed the sound of a long moist kiss, and then a frantic squeal: “Aiii! Oh, mon Pere, mon Pere, I have never felt anything like that before!”

    “Well, my daughter,” Father Lawrence quipped, “your Guillaume is young, and with the passing of time there come ever new ideas to the fecund mind who will absorb them. If that is good, I will continue in kind. There… and there again… and now upon the little button itself Guillaume's kisses. And now Guillaume's tongue to round out the good work and to search out the daintiest, most sensitive recesses of that sweet little cunny.”

    “Ahhhh!!! Oh, mon Dieu, I am going to go – oh – hurry – Guillaume, hurry, you are making me die. Aaahhh!”

    There was a wild and prolonged cry of unutterable rapture as Louisette gave down her virgin dew to the lips and tongue of her Father Confessor. And after a long moment, I heard him say in a satisfied voice, “You have absolved yourself from sin, my daughter, with your candor. Now do you take yourself to the water closet to repair the vestiges of our proxy drama, and I shall seek your sister to learn how she and my lovely ward are conducting themselves.”


    Father Lawrence did not bother to consult my curiosity, but unknowingly satisfied it because, before leaving the room in which he had just made the deliciously intimate first contact with Louisette, he had donned his cassock for the sake of propriety before calling on his charming ward Marisia and her new friend, and soon-to-be companion at the seminary, Denise.

    I therefore went along with him in his pocket, and for your sake, dear reader, I am heartily glad that I did, otherwise I could only offer you conjecture at this stage in his amazingly energetic peregrinations.

    He knocked at the door very lightly. Looking back now, I suspect he did this purposely, so that he might enter at once, and then, if – as actually happened – he beheld a scene quite different from what one might expect from two well-bred young girls, he could always excuse himself for having blundered in by asserting that he had indeed knocked at the door for admission.

    And so he entered almost before the faint tap of his knock had died away, and instantaneously I heard two girlish squeals, followed by a clucking of Father Lawrence's tongue, and then these gravely intoned words: “My daughters, my daughters, whatever are you doing there atop the bed, and in such scandalously brief attire? Marisia, you being my ward, it is you who must explain what I behold here, for I do not wish to credence the testimony of my own eyes!”

    “We – we were becoming ac – acquainted, mon Pere,” I heard Marisia quaver. “Denise was telling me how unhappy she was because her brother had been kidnapped by the wicked tyrants, and I wished to soothe her.”

    “I cannot And fault with you for that tender show of compassion, my dear child,” the English ecclesiastic declared, “and if we were back in Languecuisse with the warm sun beating down upon us, I could have a little more tolerance for the brevity of your costumes. Yet outside the wind blusters and the waves are dark and ominous, so that it cannot be attributed to the warmth of the season, this immodesty of apparel. How do you explain, my tender Marisia?”

    “I – I did not wish to rumple my dress, mon Pere,” was Marisia's ingenuous reply. “Nor I either, mon Pere,” Denise chimed in.

    “Well, upon due reflection,” Father Lawrence said more mildly, “I cannot fault you on that score either. Indeed, I am told that the good fathers at St. Thad-deus are inclined towards parsimony, and so they will welcome you more heartily once they learn you are solicitous in the concern of your garments so as to prolong their life.”

    Cynically again, had I possessed the powers of a ventriloquist, I might have informed these charming virgins that, from what I knew of St. Thaddeus, the pious fathers there would welcome them even more heartily were they to wear no dresses at all; and of a certainty, once they had been inculcated into the regimen which prevailed at that Seminary, I very much doubted that they would ever be permitted to wear dresses again, since the fewer clothes covering their charming forms the simpler and swifter the opportunity to teach them all they ever needed to know about the rudiments of fucking.

    But I was anxious now to learn how Father Lawrence would profit by the titillating spectacle he must have burst in upon, one which he now detailed by remarking: “All the same, my children, you might have at least retained your chemises. But to lie thus clad only in your drawers and stockings and to huddle together facing each other with your arms about each other's waists, might well be misinterpreted by a less sanguine guardian than I. Was it you, Marisia, who suggested to Denise that both of you remove your chemises?”

    “Why, no, mon Pere, it just came about naturally. Before we knew what was happening, there we were on the bed talking about Master Jean, Denise's dearest missing brother. Oh, mon Pere, are you going to help her and Denise find him?”

    “Not at this moment, certainly.” I heard a discreet cough, and then I heard something else which made me realize that I had no need to fear the good Father in his failing to take advantage of a situation when it presented itself so surprisingly as this one undeniably had. It was, dear reader, the sly turn of the key in the lock, which meant that he wished privacy and no intrusion whatsoever upon the next few moments.

    “Well, lest you two be embarrassed by my appearance in this dour black garb, I will remove it also, to show you how indulgent I am towards the virtue of compassion and of concern for the necessities of life which are bestowed upon you by others more fortunate, my daughters,” he now remarked. Once again I felt myself jiggled this way and that in my metal locket. I knew what that meant only too well: he was removing the cassock, and he was appearing before these virgins as a man, not as a priest. If he had chosen the law as his profession, Father Lawrence might have become a judge advocate, sitting at the Assizes, for his was the kind of compassion towards the indigent and helpless female which would have brought him to the door of Newgate itself to call upon the beadle to hold the birch before it might fall upon the white buttocks of the condemned whores. And if I mistake not, he would have taken each of those poor wenches, soothed their chagrin at being forced to bare their most intimate parts, and then, having dispersed the multitude of greedy sightseers, consoled each in his own virile way.

    “Now then, my daughters, we can all be more at our ease,” he resumed in an ingratiating tone of voice. “With your permission, Marisia, and with yours also, dear Denise, I will share your confidences and innermost thoughts. For I know that now, at the brink of this journey across that stormy body of water, both of you must fear your entry into a foreign land. You may well believe that there will be no friends there to greet you, and so, understanding this, I begin to realize why the two of you sought conclave with each other. It was much after the principle of two innocent babes that huddle together in their terror of the elements, seeking warmth and solace one from the other. Ah, what happy Christian virtues are nascent within you both, my daughters!”

    With this, I heard a new creaking of the bed, which told me that father Lawrence had taken his place with the two charming girls. It was a pity that I could not see him, for surely, with Marisia and Denise lying there beside him naked from their neck to their waists, his prick must have been in a ferocious state. And because he had already declaimed that virginity was a trust imposed upon him by his new order, and that it could not be revoked until these wards had entered the protective walls of St. Thaddeus, I was mightily curious to learn how he proposed to appease his great longings (as well as his great long prick!).

    “Now then, my dear children,” I heard him exclaim as again the bed creaked to suggest that he was settling himself most luxuriously, “let each of you give me her hand to hold, so that I may lie between you as a bulwark of good faith and friendship so allay your timidities and disperse all your fears. I know that the journey seems tempestuous over those stormy waves and under that leaden sky. But the sun will shine tomorrow as surely as my name is Father Lawrence, and the waves will be lulled by the soft breezes that you bring from fair France. I feel that this is true because during my vacation in that memorable little village where I first came upon Marisia, I found no storm or hostility anywhere. And now, my daughters, confess it – do you not both of you feel more at your ease to have me here between you?”

    Denise giggled. “It reminds me a little of Jean when he was at home with us,” she confided.

    “In what way, my daughter?”

    “Well, he was always asking me to let him see my tetons.”

    “Your titties? I cannot blame him for that either. How adorably firm and satiny they are to the sight and to the touch. Indeed, one would believe you were several years older than your actual age, my daughter. Your flesh is firm and yet so youthful, with the budding promise of maturity. This is the combination which heats the blood of the most experienced rogue, and that is why it was well that I rescued you and your sister from that wretched pimp. Beauty such as yours must be appreciated by those of wisdom and patience, as well as strength, my charming Denise.”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” Denise again giggled, “now you are making me blush even more than Jean did.”

    “And why should that be, my daughter?”

    “Because you are a full grown man, mon Pere, and because I can see that your bite is so very much bigger than Jean's ever was, even though it is still hidden in your garments.”

    She was assuredly a bold jade for a virgin, a wise virgin forsooth, was she not! Yet with unerring knowledge, I could have anticipated Father Lawrence's approval of that forwardness; of energetic mien and temperament himself, he most of all was a priest likely to savor an aggressive wench. It took fewer sermons and wasted less time to engage himself with one who did not simper and fidget and turn away and ask to have every word translated. With girls like Louisette and Denise, as with Georgette, and, farther back, with the Widow Bernard and the Amazonian housekeeper, Desiree, Father Lawrence was sure to be at his most zealous and potent; he did not need to waste his strength or his time in seducing them to bed, since females of that ilk already yearned to be fucked and rogered to the utmost, even if they did not come out and say so in so many words!

    “Now, are you both better disposed to take me into your confidence, my daughters?” the virile English ecclesiastic demanded.

    “Oh yes, mon Pere,” came from Denise. Marisia, not to be outdone, chimed in with: “You are the only one whom I shall ever confide in, mon Pere, now that I am departing from my beloved Tante Laurette.”

    “It does my heart good to know that you two charming children have, like babes in the woods, made up with each other and become good friends. But tell me, Marisia, my dear, did Denise discuss with you aught of the habits of her brother Jean?”

    Now it was Marisia's turn to giggle and to murmur, so softly that I almost could not hear. “Oh, oui, mon Pere, she told me a great many things that he did to her and Louisette because he loved them so much.”

    “Tattle-tale!” Denise burst out.

    “Not so, my dear child, and do not upbraid my ward, for I have already heard something of this intimate story, as you will remember. When I was with you and your sister, my dear Denise, did you not tell me that it was Jean's habit to tickle your most delicate and secret spots but, of course, without committing original sin?”

    “Yes, I suppose that is true. But all the same, Marisia shouldn't tell you what I told her in confidence, mon Pere,” Denise sulked.

    “Now, now, my daughter, do not show jealousy or expect to have preference, for that does not bode well for our future harmony at St. Thaddeus,” Father Lawrence cautioned. “But you, Marisia, I charge you on your hope of redemption to tell me truthfully whether you mentioned to Denise, your dear new friend, what naughty little games you sometimes played with your Tante Laurette?”

    There was now again the sound of giggling which seemed to intimate that the naughty creature in whose locket I was woefully imprisoned had done precisely that, and even with elaborations thereunto.

    “Well, I cannot say that I did not anticipate such revelations,” Father Lawrence said rather sorrowfully, “but I truly hope that you did not boast about your powers as a young seductress, for that would be wickedness and carnage, Marisia.”

    “Oh no, mon Pere, I only told Denise that Laurette and I would play with Monsieur Villiers' becque so as to try to get it hard for him so that he could fuck Laurette, who is my sweet aunt.”

    Marisia, to be sure, used the French word “baiser” to describe distinctly the way the two-backed beast is made. Father Lawrence sighed again and protested, “I shall have to give both of you special lessons in our English tongue when you reach the Holy Seminary of St. Thaddeus, my daughters. While it is true that the French language has the admirable quality of supplying a word for each precise shading of meaning, it is also true that our good rough Anglo-Saxon speechifying contains expressions that for power and vigor and clarity of image cannot be surpassed even if you were to speak in all the tongues of Babel. But now, what is this… is that your hand upon me, Marisia?”

    I had learned to recognize the girlish giggle by now, dear reader, so that I could identify Marisia as the culprit. Yes, it was indeed her hand, and Father Lawrence left me in no shadow of a doubt as to where the minx had put it, for he straightaway gasped: “My daughter, you are going to make Denise swoon and think me a lecher, handling me thus! Do you know what you have taken out of my drawers?”

    “Oh, I know what it is, if she doesn't, mon Pere,” Denise spoke up so boastfully that I almost wanted to bite her – till I remembered that I could bite no one. “Mon Dieu, it is as big again as – ohh!” And then she stopped, catching her breath in confusion.

    “As what? What were you about to say, my daughter?” Father Lawrence sternly demanded.

    “Oh, mon Pere, I would rather not say, please.”

    “I will forbid you further intimacies with my ward Marisia if you do not truthfully confess, my daughter,” he enjoined.

    “Well, mon Pere, if I tell you the truth, I will be guilty of another sin.”

    “I absolve you in advance. Now speak, you stubborn vixen!”

    “Well, mon Pere,” Denise hesitantly preferred, “after you had sent me off to this room to visit with Marisia, I needed my handkerchief because I was going to sneeze. Then I remembered that I had left it back in the room you had got for me and Louisette, so I went back, and I opened the door and I looked in, but then…”

    “I perceive your meaning,” Father Lawrence hastily interrupted. “Well, there is reward for truthfulness, in this world as well as the next. And since it is such, and since I will not show preference and I will not have jealousy between the two of you, do you, Denise, put your soft hand also upon my bite, as you call it, alongside Marisia's dainty hand and then lean over me and kiss each other in token of future sisterhood, for such you shall be from this day forth and even on to your new life at the Seminary!'

    Then the bed creaked mightily, and I visualized that the two charming minxes, one on each side of the good Father, moving about to reach over his prone body, each holding her hand upon his mighty prick, to meld their lips in a sweet kiss of innocent and platonic sisterhood. It amused me to wonder, despite his great talk of not showing preference, which of the two sisters Father Lawrence longed most to fuck, and whether, after so chance a meeting and so short an acquaintanceship, he was not more eager to fuck either of them rather than his own charming ward, Marisia, who had no one else in the world as her relative.

    “C'est magnifique!” Denise purred, but I do not at this time think she was talking about Marisia's kiss. Nor was she. Father Lawrence again brought light and comprehension to my dark prison by gasping out, “Gently, gently now, my daughters, or you will chafe the tender skin of the head! Was it thus you belabored your brother Jean? I do not wonder that he was happy to go with the pirates, for it is said that the Bey of Algiers enjoys the fondlings of young castrati almost as much as he does that of tender virgins.”

    “Not always, mon Pere,” Denise shamelessly replied, “but Jean grew so very excited whenever I or Louisette touched him there. He could not hold his juice very long once my fingers were upon him. I think he liked me better than he did Louisette!”

    “Hush, my daughter, vanity, vanity, all is vanity, and it is one of the seven deadly sins! His destiny is to be absent from the two of you, but by your diligence and humility and obedience it may be that he will be restored to you. When that happy day comes, Denise, you will be more appreciative of his manly qualities, and tenderly solace him as a girl should her brother who has passed through such tribulations. So, if you repeat these gentle games, taking care always not to indulge in the crime of incest, you must learn a gentler touch. With the tip of your index finger, my daughter, glide gently over my balls. You too, Marisia, follow Denise on the other side of me. I warrant there is room for both!”

    In faith, I might have added that there was room enough also for Louisette if she had not been in the next room.

    There followed a veritable symphony of sighs, little gasps and giggles, heartfelt moans, and, above all else, interminable creakings of that sturdy bed which had doubtless given horizontal support to many an amorous couple (or trio or quartet, for all I know) since this worthy inn was constructed. But of one thing I was certain through all this onomatopoetic concert – that Father Lawrence assuredly possessed more self-mastery than young Jean. To be sure, I was abetted in this observation by the remark of gentle Marisia, who some little time later exclaimed, “Oh, mon Pere, the lips are twitching but no juice comes out! It is almost as with Monsieur Villiers!”

    “Marisia, you do me an injustice by so comparing me with the memory of that worthy old patron now gone to his eternal rest,” Father Lawrence hoarsely ejaculated. “Surely your experience with Laurette in his bed must have told you the difference. Your fingers toiled till they were numb with frigging, but if he did not yield his juice, it was because he was a sere and withered old man for whom such carnal pleasures had no further purpose. Whereas I, still in the prime and bloom of vigor, have veritable oceans of spunk but know the secret of damming them up until the moment is at hand for true pleasure.”

    “Shall I do it in my mouth as I also did to the bite of M'sieu Villiers?” Marisia naively preferred. “Do so, my daughter, and hold yourself in readiness, for I am at the moment of allowing the dam to break. Ah, Denise, your fingers are gentler now, you are learning the good lesson! With the lightest of touches, so that your fingertip scarcely grazes the taut skin of my balls and of my cockhead – aaah, just so, my daughter,” he gasped.

    I heard now a soft wet smack, doubtless the sweet osculation of Marisia's lips, and then I heard Father Lawrence cry out, “Ah, Denise, you are denied your share, but it will be your turn next Gratify my sweet ward, who is bringing me to earthly paradise, by putting your soft finger into her little slit and tickling just inside the lips where she is most sensitive. Then you will in a sense share indirectly the ecstasy she procures for me, which must content you till your time has come.”

    “I am doing it, mon Pere,” Denise gasped, and I heard Marisia giggle, “That tickles, Denise – oooh, how it tickles… ohh!”

    “But do not take your lips off me, or, when the dam bursts, the spunk will have no sweet receptacle,” Father Lawrence panted, and once more I heard that inimitable sucking sound which is the precursor of a good frenching.

    Now the symphony in the room had reached its crescendo. And with groans and sighs and little squeals, the two girls plied Father Lawrence as he had described his desire for them so to do, and when I definitely heard his hoarse bellow and knew that he had at last let the dam burst, the gurgling music which ensued told me that Marisia had provided the sweet receptacle so urgently needed. And yet, even as she gurgled to bring him bliss, I heard her commingling moan and knew that Denise's finger had been frigging her dainty tickler and so drawn her towards her own juvenile earthly paradise.

    At long last Father Lawrence, in a langorous and beatific tone, remarked, “My daughters, I am well pleased with your compatibility and sisterly appreciation of sharing. Remember that I will be always with you to guide you through the most arduous course of trials which it may be your lot to endure before your orphanage is truly at an end. But, Denise, you have your handkerchief after all, I see.”

    “Oui, mon Pere. I had forgotten that I had put it in another pocket of my dress.”

    “But you are patting yourself between your satiny thighs, my daughter. Is it true what I suspect, that while you were solacing Marisia, you solaced also yourself with your own tender little hand?”

    “That is true, mon Pere. I could not help it. Seeing Marisia wriggle so and feeling how her little tickler was growing hard, I felt my own stir within me, and I had to close my eyes and tickle myself there and pretend that it was Jean.”

    “I see, my daughter,” Father Lawrence sighed heavily, “that I shall have to devote a quiet hour one day soon towards edifying you in the joyous little games by which pleasure is devised upon this trenchant sphere of ours. But now I think it wise that we seek repose, so that all of us will be ready to board the ship at eventide.”

    And once again there was a creaking of the bed, this time gentler and more subdued, indicating that Father Lawrence and his two charming wards had sought the arms of Morpheus rather than one another.


    I do not know what prayers Father Lawrence must have addressed to Aeolus, the mythological god of the winds, but by late afternoon the sun broke through the dull gray sky and the howling of the winds abated. I had to rely for news of this seeming miracle on Father Lawrence himself, for after he had initiated the sisters Denise and Louisette into a starting familiarity with the most virile part of his person, he had them take a nap in their newly acquired room while he flung himself in an armchair and bade his ward close her eyes and fortify herself in the arms of Morpheus so that she would have strength for the nocturnal journey on the good ship which was to take them back to England. After that nap, which must have consumed all of an hour or more, he wakened and strode to the window and then cried out in his vigorously resonant voice, “My daughter, my daughter, open your eyes and gaze upon the fair sight of the sun, for it will be your last day in your native land!”

    Drowsily, Marisia wakened and came to join him beside the window. I heard the sound of a tender kiss, rather more chaste than was Father Lawrence's wont. Besides, from his genial tone, I gathered that he was on the verge of sermonizing his charming raven-haired ward on the inevitable good fortune that would await her now that she was under his protection, though I did not think he would be braggart enough to claim it was he who had stopped the winds and brought forth the sun from behind the angry, dark clouds.

    “It is customary for us priests to use the term 'my daughter' when we are in converse with a female of any age from nine to ninety-nine,” he explained. “Yet with you, my little Marisia, I feel a greater intimacy, as if truly you were my own flesh and blood and thus my daughter. So, when you are in the Seminary of St. Thaddeus, you will have to answer to other priests whose authoritative powers take priority over mine, being the newest comer there. Yet before you enter those walls, my dear child, I wish you to promise me – and I hope that you sincerely feel this kinship between us – that when I say to you 'my daughter' you will always know that it has a secret meaning and a benediction which is of my personal good will and not simply out of amenity.”

    “Oui, mon Pere,” Marisia sighed, “I do feel very much that way, for I have no one else to look after me, and yet it is not exactly like a daughter that I feel towards you, mon Pere.”

    “Shhh,” cautioned the good English ecclesiastic. “Remember, we have a pact between us so that once you are in the seminary you will not breathe a word to the other priests of what tender joys you and I have shared. It could be, so to speak, a kind of family secret between us. And even when you find that you must turn your devotions to others, who will doubtless try to urge or even browbeat you into compliance, think tenderly of me. If the need arises, close your eyes and remember the idyllic passages we have shared, which cannot be taken away from us even with the passage of the years.”

    He spoke mournfully enough, verily, to compose a sonnet on his sorrow at aging. But I did not think that he would have to worry for a good many years yet over his loss of liaison between himself and the fair sex.

    “Are you going to help Denise and Louisette find their brother, truly, mon Pere?”

    “Why, as to that, my cherished daughter, I mean to put the matter before my brothers of the cloth once we have arrived at St. Thaddeus. You see, a seminary which is endowed by the charitable contributions of many wealthy parishioners – who, it may be added, are the more generous precisely because they are the more sinful, wishing to buy their dispensation in advance to save them from the flames of Hell when their time is come – has no end of monetary riches which can be put to costly endeavors. By this I mean, dear Marisia, that if my brothers at St. Thaddeus are impressed by the virtue and beauty of Denise and Louisette, they may, in their own charitable disposition, divert some of those funds to send a messenger or courier to the powerful Bey of Algiers and even buy this worthy youth Jean back. I cannot tell in advance if they will do this, but I promise them, as I promise you, that I will do all in my power to aid your new friends so that your little family may be reunited once again. We will say a prayer together for this worthy cause. Kneel down beside me at this window and stare out into the sky, where the fair sun once more parades upon the heavens. Does this not augur well for our journey by ship this eventide?”

    “Oh yes, Father.”

    “Then let us pray that you and I will always be as close as we are now, to share delights and joys, to confide in me your sorrows and dreams – especially the latter, for a maiden's dreams are the stuff which women are made by – and I will interpret for you, just as Joseph interpreted the dreams of Potiphar and then of Pharoah in those ancient days of Egypt.”

    I heard a rustling of garments and a little sigh. Marisia was doubtless, the little baggage, snuggling closer to her guardian by way of promising him that tender nearness which he had asked of her. I admired his zeal, but I also admired his forbearance. He had been with her alone so many untold hours that he could have taken her maidenhead a thousand and one times ere now; yet, apart from some delightful digital dalliance, he had not really taxed her virgin estate. Did he actually mean to bring her to that seminary where fornication was the watchword if not the password, without once attempting to match his stalwart staff against the tender barrier of that membrane which mortals call the maidenhead? And since I knew him to be a man of parts and a man of hot-blooded intensity as well, under that cassock of his, (and still more out of it) I found it highly amusing to conjecture exactly how he proposed to save that jewel for his own taking once he and Marisia had crossed the threshold of St. Thaddeus. From my recollections of my sojourn (which, dear reader, you may enjoy for yourself by reading the first volume of my memoirs), I could name at least four sturdy, portly priests who would fall upon Marisia as if she were a side of fresh mutton to be devoured during a time of famine. How then, for all his vigor and casuistry, could he out-talk or out-maneuver those ravenous colleagues and be first between the shapely nubile thighs of gentle Marisia?

    He was mulling over that problem, though I could not know it at the time. But after this communal prayer, he rose and bade Marisia attend to her attire, saying that he would have supper sent up to the three girls and that then they must be ready to go down to the wharf to board the ship, for he was now certain that they were upon the last stage of their long journey.

    As he put on his cassock, I was rudely jounced from one end of the locket to the other, thus interrupting my own meditations. I could not understand why, with the good Father's natural curiosity, he had not deemed it advisable to pry open this locket and see what token Laurette had given her charming young cousin by her old husband's adoption. I crouched, ready to spring, waiting for that moment when the catch should be turned and the top of the locket fly open so that I might fly out. But he did not so much as delve his hand into the pocket of the black robe which announced his piety. Instead, he went down the stairs to give orders to the landlord to have a tray of viands and a pitcher of milk sent up to the two rooms, sufficient to nourish three growing young maidens. As it chanced, he met the fair Georgette, who informed him that her father, too, was taking a nap and that she would therefore take charge of fulfilling his wishes.

    “Why, my daughter, you have already filled them more than I could ask,” he insinuated with a genial chuckle. “But tonight is the last time that you will see me on these shores, for with the calming of the Channel, our ship must sail upon the eventide. I shall miss you, dear Georgette, and I shall say a prayer for you when I repeat my orisons two days hence in the holy seminary of St. Thaddeus.”

    “But I thought, mon Pere,” Georgette curiously observed, “that you are un Anglais. And yet the name St. Thaddeus suggests rather the name of a Pole. How did that come about, mon Pere?”

    “Now that you mention it, my clever beauty,” he said thoughtfully, “I confess that I am somewhat perplexed that the Seminary was not named after a good English saint. Ah, I have it! You say that this St. Thaddeus is a Pole. Well, by my troth, each of my colleagues with whom I am shortly to be joined, so I am reliably informed, must be in truth the descendant of a Pole of good measure and good valor, since he possesses a fearsome pole between his thighs, a staff fortified with vigor enough to terrify Lucifer if it were struck upon the doors of Hell!”

    This allegorical allusion left Georgette still perplexed, for she only giggled and did not pursue the topic. Or perhaps, in a different sense, she did, since I heard her voice much nearer to Father Lawrence, as if she were up against him, with a sweet and mournful expression saying: “But does this mean that I am not to see you again, mon Pere?”

    “In your dreams, or in your thoughts, or, if it is so willed, my daughter, then in the flesh should I be assigned to these French shores by my superiors,” was his response.

    “Oh, I would rather see you in the flesh, then, a hundred times over, mon Pere,” she murmured coquettishly. “For when you are across the Channel with all those Poles, you will not think of me at all.”

    “Why, my daughter, that is not true in the least. Indeed, the more I am forced to think of my pole, the more often both it and I will remember the charming hospitality you accorded both of us so recently. And I think that there is still a little time before I must depart from this cordial inn, which I would use in the sweet employment of saying au revoir to you, dear Georgette.”

    “Why, whatever do you mean, mon Pere?” she tittered.

    “I mean that I will explain to you the riddle of the Pole as against a pole, so that the two are often one, but the one is not necessarily the other, depending on geography as well as birth.”

    “I am only a poor honest girl who aids her ailing father to run this meager little inn, mon Pere. But I would gladly listen to you without heeding the time if it were not that I should fear a drubbing for neglecting my tasks. And you do not wish your three young wards to go unfed?”

    “Not at all, my daughter, but there is ample time. And if they fast for a quarter of an hour or more past their usual suppertime, it will teach them fortitude and patience, both goodly qualities to be reckoned with in the hereafter when they are come to final judgment. As for myself, I should like nothing better than to be able to chose a bottle of wine with which to toast the health of both you and your father. Could we not descend again to this estimable wine cellar of yours, my dear Georgette?”

    Oh, now I saw the scheming logic of this sly, English ecclesiastic! His play on words had so bemused me that I had not quite ascertained his purpose in remarking it to this simple wench. But it was plain now: the 'pole' to which he referred was nothing more nor less than his prick. I should not really say nothing less, for it was surely substantially more than most men are given to boast of between aspiring female thighs!

    Simple tavern wench or not, Georgette perceived his drift at once, once he had mentioned the wine cellar. With a little trill of laughter, he gave him a resounding kiss, melting into his arms as a pound of butter would melt upon a high plateau under the scorching sun of the Sahara. I heard the most effusive sighs and gasps, and the rustling of garments and the little moans and finally the sucking sounds of lips put together in exquisite conjunction. And when the Father spoke at last, it was in a tone that trembled and was edged with huskiness, which I ascribed to the most tender of all emotions that can be shared between male and female, even if they be sanctimonious ecclesiastic and humble peasant wench.

    “Oh, quickly, man Pere,” Georgette gasped, and her voice also shared this same eloquent tremolo of excitement which I had just heard from her vigorous male partner, “I am sure that I can find one of Papa's finest bottles of Anjou or Chablis for so important an occasion! But we cannot tarry very long, mon Pere, because my father will be down certainly before another half hour has made the sun sink closer to its bed in the western sky.”

    It was amusing to me, as well as a source of grudging admiration, that whenever any susceptible female came into Father Lawrence's presence, he infallibly was afflicted with the most romantic and poetic diction. Now whether she partook of it by osmosis or by inspiration of his presence and person or by humility which sought for self-improvement to be worthy of so articulate and artful a male, I cannot really tell. But from what I know of Father Lawrence's endeavors to sow the seed wherever it would find good planting, I am rather more inclined toward the process of osmosis: that osmosis which involves the soft receptive cunt of the female and its inordinate capacity for accepting the offertory of spunk of which substance Father Lawrence seemed to be blessed in super-abundant quantity.

    “I must sample the Anjou,” he decided after another series of sucking kisses and cooing sighs proffered by his fair accomplice. “But do you know that, after having serenely taken my ease in that little village of Provence, I have the bucolic yearning to tap the good wine out of a barrel rather than to take it from a bottle, for bottle-feeding is more fitting for babes. And the only thing I have to do with babes, apart from baptizing them, is in the conception of them which, I need not tell you, my daughter, is forbidden by Mother Church in my estate.”

    “Oh, I will eagerly tap your barrel for you, mon Pere,” Georgette passionately vouchsafed. And I knew precisely what barrel she referred to and what sweet instrument would be the tapper. It was fitted most deliriously between her satiny thighs, but I did not think that within so short a time as half an hour it could tap the full barrel of Father Lawrence's spunk.

    At last they broke asunder, and Georgette led the way to the little staircase that led down to the dark wine cellar. She told him that she would take a candle with her to lighten their way; and then the naughty baggage preferred a remark which certainly showed that she had been remiss in making her usual confessions at whatever church she attended in Calais.

    For with a soft slurred giggle, as they went down the stairs, she remarked, “I will save this candle, mon Pere, and after you have left us, I will retain it as a remembrance of your presence. Mayhap, many a night from now when I toss and turn in my lonely bed, I will take it and pretend that it is you visiting me where I wish best to entertain you.”

    Was there ever so bold and candid a hussy as Georgette? Comparing her with gentle Laurette and sweet Marisia, I could but pronounce that, as has often been held by theologians, there is more bawdy virtuosity in the cities than in the village hamlets. And doubtless this is true because simply there are more wanton females in the former than in the latter by dint of population. However, knowing the alert capacity for wisdom which sweet Marisia had already shown, even in Languecuisse, I should not be surprised if by the time she had sojourned in wicked and sprawling London for a while, she could put even Georgette to shame when it came for sweet shamelessness!

    Father Lawrence did not remark to this naughty observation till they had reached the wine cellar and Georgette had set the candle down in a little cup. But then he murmured, “It grieves me, my daughter, that you would let an inanimate object simulate that noblest of human structures given to man for his joy to make up for the loss he suffered he was driven out of Eden. So, before we tap this wine, my daughter, let me show you how wrong you are in seeking such a substitution.”

    Whereupon once again I was rudely flung from side to side and up and down till I was most indignant. He had doffed his cassock with an unimpaired vigor, as if he had not already lost a good deal of spunk from the fingerings of the two sisters and of his own tender young ward Marisia. I could only conclude that he had a truly inexhaustible supply.

    A moment later, when I heard a gasp from Georgette, I was certain that he was exhibiting to her the difference between a pole and a candle, and I was indisputably right. With a swelling ardor to his mellow and resonant voice, he bade her consider the difference: “Behold, my daughter, here is your candle, placed beside my pole. Is there aught by which you could actually consider the two the same save perhaps in the length? But even admitting the equal length of this candle which has lighted our way to this dark cellar, do you not see that my own pole is greater in breadth? Also observe the head of the two objects side by side. That of my pole is shaped like a plum and set off from the stick which bears it forward, whereas this candle is all of the same contour. The candle has a wick which must be lighted. You will need to strike tinder or take it near a fire to illumine it so that in turn it may guide the way. But my pole has an eternal wick, so long as I am alive and lusty, my daughter, and this I will demonstrate with perspicacity to you upon this instant. Do you but truss up your kirtle and lower your drawers.”

    “Oh, oui, oui, mon Pere!” Georgette gasped with a feverish excitement. Once again I heard the rustling of garments. And when I heard Father Lawrence's gasp, I knew mat she had just exhibited her silky-downed wine-tapper.

    “There, do you see, my daughter? My wick is already lit at the sight of your soft pussy. It fairly burns to guide itself forward between those soft seductive lips shrouded by the silky hairs which modestly shield your tenderest of niches. I need no tinder nor flame to ignite my wick, Georgette; and see how huge and thick my wickbearer is when it beholds your sweet candle-snuffer. Yet here again the analogy fails, for even though once you may snuff me out by receiving the outpouring of my spunk, nature strengthens me so that soon again my wick is lit and ready for more guidance. Let me illustrate this, my daughter.”

    “Oh, oui, oui, oui… ooohhh – aaahhh, mon Pere, mon Pere!! C'est merveilleux!” Georgette squealed.

    “And finally, to deny this analogy altogether,” he continued a great deal more forcefully, “when this candle by which you would simulate my pole should approach so soft and silky-furred a candle-snuffer as is yours, it would burn it piteously. Whereas my pole does not burn at the wick, yet it burns indefatigably all down its length when it is nestled entirely within your sweet candle-snuffer – thus!”

    I heard him grunt as he doubtless shoved his pole forward into Georgette's candle-snuffer, for the baggage moaned and groaned and hugged him and then showered him with a thousand little sucking kisses to express her ecstasy.

    “How your bottom squirms and jiggles, my daughter,” he gasped, still more hoarsely than before, “my hands can scarcely steady it; it is like the rudder of a ship tossed hither and yon upon angry waters, hurling itself this way and that! But I will bring it balance and equilibrium, my daughter! Do you hold tight onto me while my pole guides you through these turbulent seas to find at last the appeasement for which you burn and for which equally I burn to bestow upon you!”

    And then, dear reader, there followed a chorus of groans and gasps, and huggings and kissings, of sighs and murmurs, until finally I heard Georgette wail out, “Oh, yes, it is so much better than any candle! It is bigger and thicker and hotter by far than any candle! Oh, hurry, hurry, make me burn all inside of my little con!”

    “I will, I will! Have patience, my daughter!” he gasped. “My pole a candle? There, take this, and this again!” At each 'this' he must have given a lunge of his formidable pole, for Georgette squealed as if she were being drawn and quartered. But it was not a squeal of pain but rather one of indescribable carnal bliss.

    And then there came his long-drawn groan as his wick was dampened by that rapacious and insatiable candle-snuffer which Georgette housed between her plump straining thighs.

    They sighed together like a pair of turtle doves as at last he must have drawn himself out, well tapped for the nonce. And then after a lengthy pause, he said, in a wan voice which suggested that he had bestowed perhaps more spunk upon her pussy than he had intended to, “If you must keep that candle as memento, Georgette, do you at least take a pairing knife and whittle it in some reasonable semblance of my pole. Yet you would do well to begin with a thicker candle, my daughter, for even though at this moment my own pole is vastly diminished down to the leanness of the taper which brought us to this lair of Bacchus, remember that unlike the candle, it can swell and aggrandize itself to mighty measurements. And now, a last kiss, my daughter, and then let us drink this good Anjou together to each other's health and fortune and to a safe voyage across the Channel for my pole.”

    A languid sigh and a murmured, “Oui, oui, mon Pere!” from Georgette told me in conclusion that she had at last grasped Father Lawrence's little play on words. For she had assuredly been thoroughly poled, and by now she needs must know the pole was by far superior to any candle.


    When at last Father Lawrence and that forward hussy Georgette had emerged from the wine cellar, the worthy landlord was already coming down the stairs from his own room to ascertain his daughter's whereabouts so that she might aid him in preparing the evening meal for all their guests. With some little experience in the matter, the good English ecclesiastic had first ascended from the wine cellar and engaged his host in chitchat, while the sly minx slipped off towards the kitchen. But the landlord was in a most irritable mood and because his eyes were wandering about even while Father Lawrence was engaging him in conversation, he chanced to espy Georgette. Whereupon he angrily bellowed for her to give account of herself and to explain why, although he had called out her name no fewer than three times, she had now come to answer that summons.

    “I feel that I must take the blame for that, my worthy host,” the ever gallant Father Lawrence responded. “Since my three wards are young, mere babes scarcely weaned away from their mothers' milk, and since they asked me whether they might be permitted this one indulgence of good wine to drink a farewell toast to la belle France, I did engage Georgette to accompany me to the cellar there to seek the beatific and moderate vintage which would not have intoxicating effect upon these virginal damsels. Your daughter, my good man, displayed such good knowledge of the wines of this country that I was rapt in listening to her and in considering one over the other, and therefore I fear I kept her longer than I should.”

    With this, he drew out his purse and laid down a piece of gold. “I wish to settle my score, and you will of course include the supper which your daughter will bring presently to my wards. To my reckoning, also, whatever nourishment you have for a humble priest this evening to give him strength before he sets foot upon the deck of the vessel that takes us to England.”

    Seeing that his host hesitated, he took out yet another gold piece, and with a lordly gesture clinked it down upon the first, saying, “Whatever there is left from those two coins, let it be as a pourboire for you and Georgette to drink my health and to wish me well when I am embarked upon the rolling sea of the Channel.”

    This grandiloquent gesture erased the final suspicion from Georgette's father's brain, for he burst into a torrent of French expletives, the gist of which was that in all his years as owner of this humble inn, he had never entertained so worthy and gracious a guest as Father Lawrence, no, not even nobility. “And it has been good for my wayward daughter, who is an only child, may heaven defend her,” he added effusively.

    “Amen to that!” Father Lawrence interposed in his fluent French, sending a surreptitious glance towards the bridling hoyden, who pretended to busy herself with pouring out wine from an ewer.

    “As I was saying,” her father obsequiously pursued, “the presence here of Votre Grace has brought great peace of mind to me, for, look you, this strapping and handsome demoiselle makes calf's eyes at every man that wears trousers. Ah, but Votre Grace, when you first entered my humble inn, I told myself that now Georgette would be under your protection and would be blessed as well as saved from any wrongdoing.”

    “And so she has been, for she is a worthy girl, with only her father's best interests at heart. I have already given her my blessing, and that, too, was why she was delayed in responding to your parental summons.”

    “You are much too kind, Votre Grace. Georgette, hasten to the kitchen and make certain that the repast Son Eminence has ordered for his three young wards will be brought to them directly. See to it also that he has the very best of what is cooking this eventide.”

    “I would not give him anything that is not of the very best, mon Pere,” Georgette cooed. “Ah, I wish I could have seen her winsome face when she responded so ambiguously to her father. For of course the French term for 'father' is exactly the same that a reverent and dutiful demoiselle accords a man of the cloth such as Father Lawrence was! And she had certainly given the latter all of her best and most energetically and ardently as well, unless my sense of hearing had totally deceived me. That is how, by the way, I was able to discern that she was pouring from an ewer, because the splash of the liquid from such a container is more fulsome than from a mere bottle. You see, we fleas are not only the pestiferous creatures which you humans upbraid and swear at when we sting you; and remember that when we do, it is only to prolong our own lives, and that we take only a very tiny bit of blood, far less injurious to your systems than, if I may be precise, the vitality which Father Lawrence lost each time he jetted his bubbling spunk into the sweet cunt of a novice like Georgette. Not quite two hours later, supper had been partaken of by all concerned, Georgette's father had outdone himself in florid rhetoric to bid his worthy and distinguished guest adieu, and Louisette, Denise, and Marisia, demurely attired for their journey out upon the Channel this night, got into the carriage which the landlord himself had graciously summoned to take them to the wharf where their vessel awaited.

    There was only a slight difficulty when they boarded the good ship Bonaventura. The captain, whose voice was gruff and surly, grudgingly explained that because the sailing had been delayed so long in view of the inclement weather, there were now more passengers bound for Dover than he had originally expected. He could not possibly assign cabins to the three charming demoiselles who accompanied the English ecclesiastic.

    “Good captain,” Father Lawrence flatteringly replied in polished French, “I would not think to encumber you with the petty matter of providing bunks for your passengers, when you are burdened with the great responsibility of all our lives in keeping the wheel ever so straight upon the course and braving the angry gusts that seek to flounder your sturdy vessel! A single cabin will do, good captain. You see by my raiment that I am a man of the cloth, and these poor orphans are my wards whom I am taking back as neophytes to the Seminary of St. Thaddeus. As for me, I am yet vigorous with my years, and my flesh is not weak, so it matters not where or how I sleep.”

    This little speech so impressed the surly captain that he barked an order to a seaman to escort “le bon et digne Pere” to a cabin which should be across from that occupied by the first mate. Father Lawrence then turned to his charges and said to them gently, “Do you not see, my daughters, that the Lord will provide even in the face of what seems insurmountable obstacles? Now we shall become snugly ensconced, and I am glad of this, for it gives me an opportunity to hold intimate converse with you and to fortify you for your entry as neophytes. It is an undertaking which must sober your most mature reflections, and that is why I am delighted to be so close to you this night that we may share the thoughts that undeniably must be passing through your young impressionable minds.”

    A little later, the English ecclesiastic and his three delicious wards were safely quartered in the cabin, which he pronounced quite spacious for their needs. There were but two bunks, he said, so that Louisette and Denise, being sisters by blood, should not be separated and would take the lower bunk. Marisia would clamber to the upper bunk, while as for himself, if the ship did not toss and pitch and roll about too much, he could make do quite nicely by stationing himself on the floor and resting his back against the oaken chest apparently belonging to the second or third mate, since it was the practice of vessels of this kind, when there were more passengers than nominal, for the highest ranking of the vessel's personnel to give up their own cabins to the travelers.

    Denise and Louisette changed into their shifts and got promptly into their bunk while Father Lawrence went to the porthole and peered out into the night, thus having his back to them and protecting their virginal modesty. Marisia also changed into her shift during this tender mark of propriety. The only light in the cabin was cast by an oil lamp near the bunks, but Marisia, who doubtless felt herself to be more a waif than ever in this ship's cabin and aloft in the air above the bed occupied by her two dear friends, quavered, “Do not yet blow out the lamp, mon Pere, for I am fearful, having never before boarded a ship to cross the sea!”

    “Have no fear, my dear Marisia,” he said kindly, “by morning we shall be in Dover, and then we shall make a leisurely journey to London. The sea is calm now, and there is nothing to fear. As I mentioned to you, and to you too, Louisette and Denise, I wish to tell you something of this seminary where you will be housed, fed, and well looked after.”

    (Oh, well looked after indeed, and looked into and at and by and much more, if I in my locket am still the same flea that once fled the venue where Julia and Bella entered as ingenuous novices and soon became precocious experts in the gentle art of fucking and sucking and being sucked as well!)

    “Will we be happy there, mon Pere?” Denise, in her provocatively husky voice now asked.

    “Happiness, my daughter, is an intangible substance. It cannot be measured, and it is not always material. It is a word that covers a multitude of joys, and, alas, sometimes a multitude of sins as well. For example, a naive child who had never tasted sweets might be handed a stick of barley candy by some lecherous old rogue who wished to take indecent liberties with her person. Yet in her guilelessness, sucking that candy, she might believe that she had attained a state of happiness, whereas the villainous old man, who lusted for her person, would not know happiness until he had tasted her in exchange. Do you see my parable, my daughters?”

    “Oh yes,” Marisia giggled. “But you remember what you promised me, mon Pere!”

    “And what was that, my daughter?”

    Now surely whatever seaman had occupied this cabin before the good Father and his wards must never have heard in all his born days such a startling piece of conversation as the black-haired country demoiselle now expounded ever so merrily and hopefully: “Why, mon Pere, that before I became a novice you would fuck me with your great big prick!”

    Father Lawrence coughed, possibly from an overdraught of the sea air from the porthole which he banged shut almost instantly upon Marisia's last word, then he approached the bunks, carrying me with him all this while, for he had not yet taken off his cassock. “Tut, tut, Marisia, haven't I told you that a gently bred girl does not blurt out such candid words? It is only when we are reasonably certain of not being eavesdropped upon by bigoted interlopers that we may allow our speech such liberties.”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” Louisette's sweet clear voice now wished attention, “that would not be fair to fuck Marisia and to ignore your two new wards, Denise and myself! Why will you not fuck all three of us?”

    “My daughters, there is something that I must tell you in all confidence, and you must swear upon your virginal honor not to reveal it to any other priest. It is this: as I have tried to explain, I am new to the Seminary, and although I have lived a great deal and preached many sermons of righteousness, I will not have the standing in this seminary that I had in my former bailiwick, nor even in Languecuisse, where there was only Pere Mourier to contest with me in the battle for saving souls. No, my daughters, there will be at least a dozen or even a score of stalwart priests at Thaddeus; and each, who is as zealous in his own faith as I am in mine, will doubtless seek to convert you to his argument. There is first of all the Father Superior, who has a kind of droit de seigneur over every novice.”

    But the irrepressible Marisia, who had already seen the good Father's qualifications for his post, was not to be put off so readily; once again, her voice quivering with merriment as well as with anticipation, she urged: “But surely no one at the Seminary can have as big a prick as you do, mon Pere!”

    “You must not make me vain by paying me such compliments, Marisia,” he chided gently. “That would be to do disrespect to my colleagues and to play them false.”

    “Do you mean that they will fuck us too, mon Pere?” Once again the sensually titillating voice of lovely Denise rose in the air of the little cabin. He coughed and replied, “At this moment, my daughter, to answer you truthfully, I do not see how it can be avoided. If you were actually my daughters of flesh and blood it would not be permitted. Or again, were any one of you my bride, that too would not be permitted – but then, of course, since we are not authorized to wed, the problem is theoretical at any rate. And I cannot, much as I would wish, hoard you for myself. Unless, but no – I would not instruct you to be devious, my daughters.”

    “But I like you best of any priest, mon Pere. So much more than Pere Mourier!” Marisia told her champion.

    “You flatter me greatly, my daughter. You touch me to the quick. But I put my duty above my private feelings and consign all three of you safely and intact as regards your virtue to the Seminary for your novitiate-hood. It is a solemn estate, my daughters, I can arrange, perhaps, to attend you when your hour has come to pass from the laity into the more exalted state of being received as wards of the Holy Seminary.”

    “But a moment ago, mon Pere,” Louisette now wished to be heard from again, “you said that you did not wish to instruct us to be devious. Did you mean that there might be a way where we would be solely under your protection and not have to be fucked by all those priests whom we do not know and whom we might not like to fuck us?”

    “I began to say that, yes, my daughter. But it would be too artful, too much like deception, and certainly far too selfish on my part.”

    “But tell us, anyway, do tell us!” Marisia cried.

    “Well, my daughters, you have heard of portents and miracles and signs of great moment in the Bible, have you not?”

    “Oh yes!” all three chorused eagerly.

    “To preserve your chastity against the burning and righteous zeal of the priests who will stand superior to me in seniority – though, and here I am vain to the utmost in even hinting at such a thing, I doubt that they will outstand me in stature of my fifth limb – if you would put them off by devising a kind of riddle, it would be possible that if all of them should fail to solve this riddle I should then be the one who would initiate you into the tender mysteries.”

    “What kind of riddle?” Denise breathlessly demanded.

    “In the Bible there is a parable which saith that it is easier for a camel to enter through a needle's eye than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” the English ecclesiastic's voice waxed mellow and sententious, and I could almost see the smile which curled so beatifically about his rugged visage. “Now, what is it which hides from view the dainty virginal orifice of a female which a male desires to fuck?”

    There was silence for a moment while the three of them pondered this perverse parable, and then Marisia, the irrepressible, piped up with a cry of joy: “The maidenhead, mon Pere?”

    “Yes, truly, but not from the sight, Marisia. The hymen is that hidden barrier to bliss which nestles just inside the soft lips, but it is not the answer to my riddle.”

    “I have it, mon Pere,” Louisette gleefully expounded. “It is the hair over the con!”

    “Exactly, my daughter!” he jubilantly cried. “Nature, to protect us from unfriendly elements, when man and woman were cast out of Eden eternities ago, did contrive to hide those most sensitive parts of our anatomy with body hair. And so it is true that the hair over a virgin's cunt shields her first of all from both the eyes and the prick of the male who covets her maidenhead. Before first taking your maidenhead, therefore, my daughters, my colleagues will have to reckon with the hairs of your tender cunts. And if you would say to them that you have vowed to give yourselves only to him who can guess the exact numbers of the tender silky tendrils which conceal your virginities, it may well be that your vow will be respected.”

    “Oh, yes, I see now,” gurgled Louisette. “But you will know the answer, will you not, Father Lawrence, and so it will be you who fucks us after all!”

    “You are as witty as you are beautiful, my daughter. So, while this light of the lamp is not the best, I will go back to the porthole to look out upon the calm sea and to say my orisons, while you hasten to count, each of you, each silken strand of the down which so modestly veils your virgin cunts!”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” Marisia squealed, “you have saved us for yourself! But do you mean that we must count them one by one?”

    “Yes, my child, and you must memorize the total number and never forget it, so that when one of the worthy brethren at the seminary demands that you open to him those gates of paradise, you will tell him of your vow. You will permit him to guess, although it may be that if he is a doubting Thomas, he will insist upon the prerogative of counting them himself, and that you must submit to, my child. But even under that latter circumstance, should he err in even so much as one tender silk-bearing follicle, then you can honestly and truthfully say unto him that your vow is still secure and that you must, in all humility but honesty refuse his desires.”

    “But we will tell you, will we not, mon Pere?” Denise's husky voice queried.

    “I do not ask you to do this, my dear daughter,” Father Lawrence sounded more benign than I had ever heard him do before. “And it must be of your own volition, for I seek no preference. I stand – as does the polarity of my manhood – totally on my merits.”

    I feared that the good Father would expound once again ad infinitum on this by now somewhat tiring pun, but he did not. He waited instead for the response from his three charming wards, and it was not long in coming. Louisette now spoke: “Why, then, it would be well for us to begin the count now before we reach the Seminary, mon Pere. But the light from this oil lamp is dim. It is difficult to see and perchance we might count one where there are two and so be in error ourselves and in peril of losing that which we might prefer to bestow upon you, our dear protector and savior!”

    “I am at your disposal, always, my daughters. If you wish me to do the counting, I would be privileged and accurate, too, I can tell you,” he eagerly responded.

    Now I had greater admiration than ever, for here was a man of good faith and pious works, who, like the three young Israelites who allowed themselves to be flung into the fiery furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, of his own free will was offering himself up as sacrifice to the most lewd and exciting of temptations. He was about to enact the very parable of St. Anthony. I felt certain that he would be more than equal to the test which a lesser mortal belonging to the laity could hardly be expected to pass. I remembered the story of Thais who showed herself in the desert to that mournful priest Athanais who had cried out in contumacy against her lubricity and yet how he had succumbed to mortal sin. But Father Lawrence was made of sterner stuff.

    I felt that there was a symbolism to this also. Here I was, ensconced within a little sheaf of fragrant love-hairs which had enshrined the pussypetals of gentle Laurette, and now these three girls were about to protect their maidenheads by taking cognizance of the same intimate substance. Perhaps, if I could have the power to radiate the expressions of thought through this accursed metal locket, I might yet contrive to reach the eclectic mind of Father Lawrence and get him to open that memento at long last. I do confess, dear reader, that I was anxious to behold how he would go about the counting. Now there are Zulu chieftains who, though adjudged ignorant and stupid by the standards of so-called civilized men, yet can tell you to the last doe how many deer are in their herd or how many cows down to the very last and puniest of calves. They have, you see, their own methods of counting, and their history is far more primitive and ancient than that of the European. But I had never before heard of tallying the very follicles of silky hair which entwined so mysteriously and lovingly over the tender love-chasm of a human female.

    I now heard the rustling of sheets from the lower bunk where Denise and Louisette were quartered, and then, amid suppressed giggles and sighs, Louisette's muffled voice saying: “Mon Pere, my sister and I have decided to count by ourselves, one serving the other.”

    “What a charming and original manner of tallying is this!” the English ecclesiastic exclaimed and his voice sounded suspiciously inflamed from the visual excitement the two minxes were evidently providing to his enraptured eyes. “But turn a little to the side, my daughters, so that you will catch, each of you, the widest benefit of the illumination of the lamp – ah, that is better. Louisette, you are above your sister which is mete, since you are the older. Now do not be distracted in this good work, although I do not think the task should take too long since you are both too young to have amassed, as is said of ancient generals, your thousands and tens of thousands.”

    How graphically and yet how euphemistically the good Father described his visions! I was indebted to him for furnishing me eyes where mine could not see through metal. Yet the position which Louisette and Denise were taking was, contrary to his laudatory praise, hardly original, though it was certainly charming. It was known as soixante-neuf, and so I had the setting delineated for me to my imagination's content: Louisette knelt astride Denise with her face peering at the silky curls of the latter's pussy, while from below Denise gazed up into the sweet confines of Louisette's cunthole.

    I heard more giggles and a stifled, “Ma foi, that tickles – ooooh, Denise, you naughty girl, attend to the matter at hand and do not distract me so or I cannot count correctly what I am trying to tally.”

    “Would it not be better, mon Pere,” Marisia now sweetly queried, “if I did not descend from this perilous perch so high above the floor and came down on your level so that you might assist me in my own reckoning?”

    Father Lawrence gave a soft little groan, by which I knew his own temptation of St. Anthony was commencing in the most inflammatory way.

    Finally he responded, “Very well, my daughter, since you asked for my aid and I am your guardian, I will assist you. I will sit down here atop this sturdy stool, for the vessel now keeps an even keel thanks to my prayers and the good seamanship of our worthy captain. Do remove your nightshift and sit upon my lap with your legs well spread and your arms about my neck so that I may apply myself to the task and have a clear view of the proceedings.”

    I heard Marisia now scramble down from the bunk, then the soft rustle as she doffed her only veil, whereupon Father Lawrence sucked in his breath to announce that the temptation was even more exacerbating than before. Then came the padding of bare dainty little feet upon the cabin floor and presently the gasp and the squeal by which Marisia seated herself upon her guardian's lap in her deliriously naked state. “There, mon Pere,” she blithely announced, “I am ready for the tallying.”

    “You see, my dear daughter,” he explained, “you are younger than either Louisette or Denise, and hence you must not be disappointed if the tally that I make now does not equal theirs. That, my child, is attributable to nature. Now hold tightly, and stop breathing in my ear and nibbling at the lobe of it, or I shall not be able to finish until dawn, which would deprive you of your sleep.”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” she whispered passionately, “I would not care if it took until we reached the Seminary so long as you keep tickling me with your fingers that way. Oooooh, aaaahhh, it is so delicious! Hurry and complete the tally if you will, mon Pere, so that the time will come soon that you will be the one to take my maiden-flower!”

    His breath was quick and panting, clearly audible to me and no wonder! Had I not seen Marisia and Laurette naked upon the bed of the old patron and with both charming damsels seeking to empower that incompetent old graybeard to possess his rightfully intended bride, yet to scant avail? Nubile though Marisia was and just past thirteen and a half years to her own chronological tally, she would have no trouble in empowering Father Lawrence – indeed, had I been then out of the locket, I would have been sure to behold that monstrous staff, or pole, or whatever he preferred to call it, was fully attentive to the naked satiny gaping thighs of his lovely ward.

    “Hold still, my daughter!” he hoarsely reproved her now as she must have wriggled or hugged him or applied a teasing little kiss or flick of her tongue. “There is a time for everything in this life, and this is not yet the time for your seductiveness. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… thirty-one and two and three all in a cluster, thirty-four and five and six and seven and eight – oh, what a silken sprig rises here at the lower part of your virgin cunny, my dear Marisia. Thirty-nine and forty… and one and two and three… then four all solitary as if abandoned by its silken sisters – upon my word, my daughter, you are more abundantly fleeced than I had remembered. But perhaps it is the warmth and moisture of this area, which, like a garden, nurtures the sweet plants that grow about the oasis of pleasure itself. And since I know you to be of a passionate and generous nature, my daughter, it is, upon second reflection, not surprising at all that nature has so bounteously provided you… to continue, we have now reached fifty-nine, sixty and one and two and three – oh, my lovely daughter, do not squirm your bottom so tantalizingly over my lap, or I cannot answer for the consequences.” And on he went, steeling himself against the flirtatious and licentious coquetry of raven-haired Marisia, who, I was convinced, used every trick in her juvenile power to get him to take her maidenhead.

    After what I should judge was half an hour later, he announced the total in a voice that trembled and was faint, no doubt from his absorption with the methodicity of his task: “I make it one-hundred eighty-seven hairs, my daughter, which would include some nineteen tiny follicles beginning to nestle along the ambery and sinuous crevice leading from your virgin cunny to the sweet pink rosette between your saucy buttocks. Now give me a kiss to thank me for my labors, and then put on your nightshift and go back to your bed.”

    “But, mon Pere,” Marisia complained in a woeful tone, “I know I shall not sleep, for while you were counting my pussyhairs, my bare-bottom felt your big hard prick rub it constantly. Besides that, as you must know, the tickling of your fingers as you drew one pussyhair away from another in order to tally accurately caused me such a tickling and a heating in my little con that I am burning up as with fever! Will you not dispatch me so that I may sleep and dream of the time when we shall be together in the Seminary, mon Pere?”

    “Was ever a father so plagued by so demanding a daughter?” he playfully quipped. “Well, since nature's best soporific is the sweet exhaustion after a bout of fucking, that would be the ideal palliative for your tautened nerves, my daughter. But since we are both agreed that I shall not take prime advantage over my worthier colleagues, I shall have to content you with a little sucking. In turn, you must do the same for me, for if your bottom has complained of the rudeness of my prick, it is simply because your sauciness has brought that hardness all about.”

    “Oh I will gladly do that for you, mon Pere,” Marisia volunteered.

    “Then let me carry you to this oaken chest upon which you may lie in all security and comfort and accessibility,” he suggested. He took hold of her and lifted her and must have carried her to the chest, for she giggled and squealed and kissed him noisily, saying, “I would so much rather feel your great prick tallying for itself in the place you have made so hot and eager, mon Pere.”

    “Get thee behind me, Satan's daughter,” he hoarsely parried. “It is not seemly for a maiden to be too greedy, but far better to be grateful for what pleasures are granted from hour to hour in this transient life of ours! I shall gamahuch you, Marisia, while you french me, so that in a sense you, a forsaken orphan, will feel a kinship with Denise and Louisette who are already about to end their tallying and perform that same ceremony which you French damsels call soixante-neuf.”

    I heard some squirmings and sighings then as Marisia was laid upon the chest on her back and adjusted herself to a more comfortable posture in which to show her gratitude for those favors being provided at the moment. Then she cried out with astonished delight, “Oh it is so big and red, it is on fire, I can never take it all into my mouth!”

    “If that be true, how then could you expect to take it in your virgin cunt?” he chuckled. His next words sounded muffled and lower, meaning that he had pressed his lips against the tender orifice whose hirsute camouflage he had already examined.

    “I will try my best,” Marisia promised.

    “The angels themselves could do no more, my daughter. Aah – yes, gently and softly, do not be too greedy at first, lest you repent of your temptations! Ohhh, how your soft lips cling and burn the tip of my aching cock! Oh, you would dare to use your tongue to tempt me to folly, would you, my daughter? Then I must retaliate in kind – there, take that, and that, in that squirming little pussy of yours – why, it is already moist and tinged with a milky liqueur!”

    “I could not help it, mon Pere,” Marisia gasped, “but when you were counting my pussyhairs, I felt so squirmy in my little con that it was all I could do to keep from crying out when something melted inside me.”

    “That was your come, my daughter. Ohhh, you sweet vixen, you will soon pluck from me the little seed I have left!”

    He was now not quite so boastful of his amorous exploits as he had been in the morning, and I found him much more admirable when he was not a braggart like the illustrious Casanova who, if you were to believe his memoirs, had fucked every beautiful peasant girl and widow and noble woman in all Europe during the short span of his busy lifetime. Yet, having done my own tallying on him, during the past forty-eight hours, I knew that he could not have possibly much spunk left, having deposited so much on the other side of the Channel before boarding the Bonaventura.

    Then again he called out, this time more sharply, “Denise, Louisette, you are not to imitate us till you have finished your count! Have you done so yet?”

    “Almost, mon Pere,” Denise's husky voice was trembling and unsteady now, “but I do think I have at any rate a score more little hairs over my con than does Louisette, even though she be older!”

    “Do not forget to count those which grow along the shadowy valley between your two virgin orifices, my daughters,” he counseled, and then his voice rose in a muffled cry, “Aiii! Prepare yourself, Marisia, you have brought this upon your own self by your teasing tongue! Take it then, my daughter, for it is all I have left to give you!”

    I heard him groan, but that groan was still muffled, so he must have returned to the soft niche of his lovely raven-haired ward and paid her back with his own delving tongue just as hers made surge forth the final gobbets of his viscous spunk. For now Marisia's cry of bliss drowned out his groan and the oaken chest was noisy with their wrigglings and pantings and tremorings upon it.

    “We have finished, mon Pere,” Louisette gasped, “may we now have our soporific too?”

    But he did not answer, only continuing to gasp and sigh in the aftermath of mouth-fucking. I heard Denise murmur to Louisette: “We must not disturb him at his orisons, my sister. Let us hurry so that we may sleep soundly! I am going to kiss you there between your pretty legs!”

    “And I between yours, dear Denise!”

    Whereupon there were such slushing and suckings and tonguings and kissings and moanings and sighings as I must admit I had not heard since my first days at the Seminary at St. Thaddeus. And to think that these three embryonic temptresses were but a few days' journey from that haven of repose and redemption and rogering!


    The two delightful sisters Denise and Louisette had, it seemed, not actually completed their tallying when an inevitable drowsiness took hold of them after they had eased the tautness of their young nervous systems by means of that stimulating little jeu de con known as soixante-neuf. For shortly after the cabin's dimensions had reverberated to the multitudinous amorous sounds that, in company within those scant dimensions, two nubile sisters and one waif with her protector-guardian could manage to emit while they gamboled at carnal delectation, I heard the gentle breathing of Denise and Louisette, and, not much later on, the robust snores of good Father Lawrence, who was only proving that age-old maxim that although the spirit may be willing, the flesh more times than naught is often weak – particularly when it has been called upon so repetitiously to give good account of itself and stand to tributary attention before those citadels of flesh which, I warrant you, have crumpled more heroic assailants than all the castle walls of antiquity.

    At any rate, whatever the reason, all four were soon happily asleep, while the good ship Bonaventura peacefully made its way across the Channel. The rocking of the gentle waves lulled me, too, to slumber inside my metal prison, but this time I could more willingly bear the tribulation of Dame Fortune, always a fickle jade, since at last into the fecund mind of my unsuspecting ecclesiastic-jailer, there had come the notion of what important part the soft silken down and follicles and strands and tendrils and wayward peeping of cunt-hair could impart to the destiny of man as well as of maiden.

    Indeed, so heartily did the sisters and tender Marisia and her good guardian sleep that the cry of the seamen high on the spymast, “Land ho, Dover!” resounded all through the ship before at last Father Lawrence loudly groaned, grumbled, then, bumping the chest and muttering some inaudible Latin phrase which I suspected was not at all a blessing, came to his feet and took cognizance of the late hour.

    “Open your eyes, my daughters,” he cried resoundingly, “and greet the new day – we are upon the English coast and you will see the land which will shelter you after your leave-taking of la belle Frame!”

    Marisia, who, I trust, had put her nightshift back on, was first to scurry to his side to peep through the porthole. “I see the cliffs, mon Pere,” she cried, “but oh they are not nearly so jolie as the landscape of the village of Languecuisse.”

    “You must not be so quick to judge things by your first impression of them, my child,” he said gently. “As you grow older, you will learn to revise your opinions a dozen times over. This is the way of the world. But it is true that, when the sky is gray and the winds gusty, the chalky cliffs do not give a visitor from the warm sunny Provence the feeling of home. Yet fear not, my child, I will look after you, and even though you be within dreary surroundings, yet will I make a warm place for you in my heart so that you will not believe that we English are cold by nature.”

    Oh, the sly pedantic rogue! A warm place in his heart, indeed – say rather in his bed, and it was not his heart that longed for the raven-haired fledgling who had already displayed more unrestrained interest in fornicatory matters than many a frigid virgin in her twenties brought to bed with an eager mate. The long, rather than the short, of it was that he longed for her with all his cozening prick!

    Now he murmured, “Do you know whether your new sisters Denise and Louisette finished their tallying last night, my dear child?”

    Marisia, giggled. “Ah, no, but I do not think so, mon Pere. When I went back to my bunk above them, they were kissing each other and wishing each other happy dreams, and I did hear Denise say that there would be time to reckon the true count some other evening.”

    “Well, so there will be this very night, for we stay at a hospitable little inn halfway between Dover and London. It will be our last night together as companions; for tomorrow night, you and Louisette and Denise will sleep for the first time in the Seminary at St. Thaddeus.”

    Then to the sisters he called, “Hasten to dress yourselves, Denise and Louisette! There will be just time to consume your breakfast before our staunch vessel docks at Dover, and then we shall take the coach as far as the little village of Somerset, where we spend the night before we make our happy entry into old London town.”

    To Marisia he added, “Help them speed their preparations, dear Marisia, for I wish you to be as tender and steadfast a companion and dear friend to them as if you were their sister also.”

    With this he donned his cassock, but in taking it up from where he had laid it the night before, he swung it against the chest, and I was half affrighted out of my senses, for the locket swung against the unyielding oaken coffer with a noisy thud that fairly dashed me from one end to the other inside my cramped metal prisons and all of Laurette's silken lovecurls piled upon me and very nearly suffocated me with their soft caressing mass.

    “Ah, what is this?” he muttered half to himself, and forthwith put his hand into his pocket, and all at once I felt myself lifted up into the air. Oh, happy moment, that he had deigned to take notice of the touching memento which gentle golden-haired Laurette had gently bestowed upon her young niece Marisia, for now at least there sprang into my being the ray of hope that I might yet be freed.

    But not, alas, at that moment. I heard him say, to himself, “Ah, I recognize this trinket! It has graced the white throat of sweet little Marisia, and so it is dear to me, and I will keep it safe upon my person as my own memento of our joyous meeting. Impressionable as the dear child is, it would not be seemly to let her pine for the bucolic days she knew at Languecuisse, for she has a destiny that brooks no recollections of the past.”

    And with this, he thrust me back into the pocket of the cassock, deeper than before, whereupon I rubbed my legs together in a furious outburst of powerless rage.

    How long would it be before he again deigned to notice me, I asked myself with some brief anxiety in the matter. Oh, I did not need nourishment for quite some time yet, but the day must inevitably come when the pangs of hunger would urge me to spring upon some portly man or, better still, the delicate, soft, perfumed, gently nurtured flesh of a female in the prime of life and draw sustenance to strengthen me. Was there no way to emerge from this metal dungeon, whose confines were all too limited as regards scenery and freedom of movement? I had faith, so far as mementos went, I did not need this incarceration amid the pussy-curls of sweet Laurette; I would never forget her – I could not, since her haunting intimacy had been strongly with me from that very first moment when she had taken the scissors to her dainty lovegarden and depilated herself of that sweet spring of dark golden cunny-hair in whose silken bed I had been so obliviously reposing!

    The ordinary flea would, at this point, doubtless have given way to his trepidations arid, resigning himself to doom by starvation and suffocation, believed that at least if he must come to a final end, there could be no more hallowed way to die than about the person of a doughty ecclesiastic who had shown his mettle against sinners full many a time. But I am no ordinary flea, and therefore I could only be impatient with such meek resignation. No, I was destined too for great things, or I would not have been chosen out of my millions of colleagues to chronicle the foibles of man and maid and to observe how righteousness goeth before a fall (into a maiden's or even a widow's bed!)

    I consoled myself with the anodyne of recalling that Marisia had several times mentioned, with nostalgic tenderness, her liaison with her young aunt Laurette. Then this tender sentiment must one day sharply restore her yearnings for those happy days when she and her aunt completed with such cunning carnal collaboration to thwart the senile lusts of old Monsieur Villiers. And when that day came, she would recall the locket and cajole Father Lawrence into restoring it to her, I was certain.

    Then suddenly the hideous thought sprang into mind-what if, on reaching St. Thaddeus, it became incumbent upon Father Lawrence to don a new style of cassock, for every order has its own identifying habit? And what if the cassock in which I was tucked away were sent to be laundered as is often done by Amazonian beldames with massive biceps who wash clothing in a stream and beat it dry with great rocks which they dash pitilessly upon it with their powerful hands? Oh, that I should come to my death by being ignominiously squashed by the concussion of stone against metal brought into fatalistic conjunction by the harsh and unloving hand of a robust female after having paid poetic tribute to the gentleness of human womankind all my articulate days!

    But I sternly rebuked myself for even considering this theoretical – if all too void – possibility. No, I was made of sterner stuff, else would I have perished long ago from the annoyed slap of some pompous prelate whose flaccid, obese posterior I had bitten in quest of my dinner, or the petulant fillip of the fingers of some courtesan who, finding that she had an undetermined itch in her hinder or pubic parts, did by ill luck encounter me in her gropings and so snuff out my bright golden youth. And since all fleas are necessarily fatalists, to the extent that even the most superannuated vanity which they oft borrow from the two-legged species does not delude them into believing they are or ever can be immortal, I comforted myself with the knowledge that I could not have lived so long as this and done so much and expounded so much of human fripperies and caprices unless I were fated to go on yet a little time to know the end of Father Lawrence's peregrinations and, more particularly, why destiny had decreed that I was to return nolens volens to the odious Seminary of St. Thaddeus.

    During my ruminations, there had been a knock at the door and a humble seaman entered, charged by the cook at his galley to provide breakfast for the four passengers. The man had vision, whatever else may be said for him, for after Father Lawrence had taken the tray with effusive thanks, he whistled softly under his breath, and remarked in coarse French which truly smacked of the port of Marseilles, “Ma tete, si ces jolis cons-la ne sont gatees d'demeurer avec un pere qui est aussi Pere et ne peut pas les basier comme il faut,” which was a very whimsical play on words, since the translation came to “By the head of my prick, what a shame that these lovely cunts aren't wasted staying the night with a father who's also a Father and so may not fuck them as their tastiness merits.”

    But Father Lawrence had ears as sharp as his own worthy hymen-rending implement, for he countered swiftly before the seaman could quit the cabin, “Les bon vintages ne gatent jamois d'attendre,” which means “Good wine only improves the more by waiting to drink it.” I heard a gasp from the seaman, who doubtless had not expected so apt a riposte, and then the cabin door banged to, and Father Lawrence, with a dulcet tone to his voice as if this interchange of bons mots had sharpened his appetite for food as well as for cunt, exclaimed, “My daughters, fall to and eat your fill while I say grace for the bounty of manna which the Lord provideth, and then let us go on deck so we may disembark among the first. I am eager to convey you safely to the coach which takes the high road to Somerset, so we may be at our ease in the good inn there. It happens I know the landlord there as I might my own brother, and he will set before us a Lucullan feast of good roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and a Stilton cheese and ale and a gooseberry tart dripping with rich juice out of its fragrant brown crust, and then, I warrant you, my daughters, you will not look ill upon our England.”

    So for the next four hours of that disembarkation, I jogged along in his pocket as the coach, swaying and creaking, took the high road to Somerset. Marisia sat beside the English ecclesiastic, and when the driver took a perilous turn in the road with a noisy crack of his whip and a loud oath to his horses, Marisia swayed against Father Lawrence so suddenly that I almost felt the metal locket pinch together; had she been goodly of girth, this might well have happened and my story would have ended here upon this high road to the village of Somerset, which was halfway to London and the odious Seminary.

    I had never known that a road could be so torturously crooked, for nearly every two or three minutes, with a little squeal of giggle, Marisia tumbled against the good Father, who murmured some chiding or soothing formula to ease her sweet confusion. But after about a dozen or more such pressures against my confining prison, I began to believe that the road itself could not be altogether blamed for these losses of equilibrium; for Father Lawrence did not seem to sway no matter how much the raven-haired baggage flung herself to his side. And thereby I concluded that the ingenuous little peasant virgin was purposely pretending to be tipped by the errant hooves of the thundering horses, for the sole reason that she wished to enchant Father Lawrence to the utmost and so he would renounce his vow of chastity and continence as regards her (for I had not heard him take that selfsame vow with any other female since my flea-ish gaze had first reposed upon his virile countenance) and grant her the dispensation of her maidenhead.

    Finally, much to my relief, he murmured, “Come, my daughter, lay your head upon my shoulder and put your arm about my waist to sustain yourself against the harrowing ardors of our journey, for I would not have you overly fatigued and bruised. That tender creamy skin of yours must have no marring bruise on its lilial surface, or my colleagues, in their examination of you when your novitiate is come upon, will pronounce me the rude and unsanctimonious perpetrator.”

    Whereupon the naughty minx responded, “Oh, mon Pere, I would not mind if my naked skin were black and blue from head to toe if only you would pluck my little flower and put your great prick deep into my little nestling place, for since I have seen and touched it I have been burning between my legs and only its sojourn there can put the fire out.”

    “It is true that spunk is an infallible remedy for inner fires, my daughter, but I cannot grant your wish till my brethren have had ample time to consider you and put you to the test. Yet you will not forget the important tally and the vow you have taken, will you, my daughter? That is the only way you can withhold yourself for the eventuality of my gratifying you as your sweet virgin cunt so passionately desires.”

    Rogue though he might be, this virile and robust English ecclesiastic, he was surely an honest one; and I, who have seen much skullduggery and slyly insinuating hypocrisy in this world which the great Voltaire once cynically termed as the best of all possible ones, would not give you tuppence for a Machiavelli as against a brigand who forthwith declared his felonious intentions. Besides, having witnessed too many scenes of licentiousness at the Seminary which we were rapidly approaching, I had decided to champion Father Lawrence against the horde of well-fed, complacent, worldly prelates who would assuredly seek to best this novice priest in their midst by making off with all the sensual spoils – that is, and as the French say, ca va sans dire, could I but manage to fly out of this intolerable locket.

    “Oh, I will remember it, mon Pere,” sweet Marisia sighed, “for I have no one in the world save you to comfort me.”

    “Spoken like a grateful and devout daughter, dear child! Now it is paramount that you and your new friends Denise and Louisette learn as quickly as you can some of the vagaries of our English tongue, so you will not be at too great a disadvantage before my colleagues, who are eloquent in that language as they are in Latin. And there are even some who will roll out and thunder forth the most sonorous of Latin tags, thus thinking to impress and convert you to their doctrines. Be on your guard, my daughter, and when you find yourself before an imponderable dilemma, say to them, 'I have taken a vow of chastity, Your Reverence.' Let me hear your sweet rosy lips intone those words, Marisia.”

    Whereupon the raven-haired maiden echoed the sentiment with the most charming, lisping French accent, and I felt that, given her inherent sauciness and naively inventive gifts, she might yet escape the odious fate that had befallen the by now thoroughly fucked-out Julia and Bella. And yet the perils Marisia faced were legion, for how could she, with all the spoken vows upholding chastity she might conjure up at the imminent moment of her deliverance from virginity, gainsay the ravening hunger of these seminary monks whose penchant for tasty, fresh, unsullied cunt surpassed even their appetite for good food and drink?

    “Oh, admirable, my daughter,” he delightedly exclaimed, “and if your new friends learn only that supplicatory phrase, they too may hope to save their cherries from being devoured by those who would think only of their own selfish gustatory pleasures and not one whit about the immortal souls of the maidens from whom they plunder such sweet tidbits!”

    As if to answer my own unspoken – and, even if spoken, surely impossible of hearing by human ears – Father Lawrence expatiated on this theme: “For, look you, Marisia my daughter, there is a virtue in what might be called passive resistance to adversity. When danger threatens and the odds are seemingly insuperable, the meek answer turneth away wrath. Now, who could fault you on your precocious devoutness if, when it seemed inevitable that the possessor of some angrily throbbing, violently swollen cock would not be satisfied till he had plunged that fearsome tool into the floss-veiled niche of your virgin pussy, you were to lower your modesty as befits a gentle, inexperienced maiden, and say, 'Oh, I must not, Your Reverence, because I have taken a vow the breaking of which would imperil my hope of redemption!' Oh, no, my daughter, in the face of such humility and piety, only the most unprincipled of villains not fit to wear the black of the holy order could dare to spurn your petitioning and force himself, huffing and puffing and his face crimson from immodest congestion, into the sanctorum!”

    “I perceive your drift, mon Pere,” Marisia answered thoughtfully, “but I am only a frail girl, hardly out of puberty. How could I refuse a goodly man, the more so if he waxed fearfully irate with me for my disobedience?”

    Could it be that this untutored peasant girl had already anticipated the wisdom of a newer adage that holds that when rape is inevitable, 'tis well to submit and enjoy it out of sheer discretion? Oh, clever, guileful, virginal Marisia, prize among maidens, who would fain eat her cake and have it too!

    “In my own turn, sweet child, I discern your meaning,” Father Lawrence responded. “But remember the stripling David bested mighty Goliath, champion of the Philistines, by employing both prayer and stratagem. And even then, if all else fails, consider that when one is overpowered in spite of every ruse and supplication, the sin is lifted to repose squarely on the shoulders of the brutal seducer who is too callous to be moved by prayerful entreaty or tearful timidity.”

    “Oh, mon Pere,” Marisia's fertile young mind was not yet done with this theoretical embroidering, “I am comforted by your words, and yet it greatly troubles me to think that even if I am overpowered against my will and, as you say, am not capable of mortal sin, my frail body may experience improper yearnings roused by the very force that overtakes me. What then, mon Pere?”

    “Why, then, my daughter,” he said after a moment's pondering, “you are still blameless, for without the brutal usage of force against your tender cunt, you would not experience these naughty emotions of your own virginal accord. But one last question, my dear child – have you yet come to the curse visited upon Eve, by which I mean your monthly time when nature compels you to reject even the most desirable of suitors?”

    Marisia giggled. “Oh, oui, oui, mon Pere, mon temps de la lune, oui, only a month before I came to stay with Tante Laurette, it came upon me.”

    “Ah,” he joyously exclaimed, “then here is your stratagem to oppose brute force. Only the least fastidious of rogerers would wreak his heinous will upon a virgin cunt, for then he would find two separate Sowings of bright red blood to staunch. So, Marisia, tell your impassioned lecher that the curse is upon you.”

    “Oh, I will mon Pere! But you must contrive to fuck me before that time,” Marisia cooed. Again she did seem to sway against him, and he coughed, doubtless to hide his emotion in the face of so sweetly gracious a plea.

    After a solemn pause, he ended this tremendously weighty discourse by murmuring to his raven-haired ward, “You must manage to indoctrinate your companions Denise and Louisette as to all these manifestations of chastity, my child. And tonight you must aid them in completing their tally of pussyhairs, for a reason that I have devised as you well can guess and which will keep all three of you from what I believe to be immediate risk of being sullied too early in your estate as novices. Now let us close our eyes and drowse a bit so that the tedious journey will not overtax our energies, my dear Marisia.”

    Denise and Louisette in their corner of the coach had been chatting away in a low voice which I could scarcely hear, but I was not altogether certain their topic was the beauty of the English countryside. The coach jogged on, and I myself sought to drowse, for sleep knitteth up the raveled sleeve of care, as good Shakespeare once said it, and by sleep perchance I might manage to forget for the nonce the pussyhairs of dear Laurette which had begun to tickle and stab me each time I was buffeted about in my locket-prison.

    Much later, when I did waken – finding that I had happily been able to forget my cares for a lengthy time – I heard the drone of Father Lawrence's voice, and discerned that he was once again engaged in teaching English to sweet Marisia. There were endless repetitions of phrases, echoed by her exquisitely timbered voice with that inimitable Gallic accent which made her the more provocative, such as, “Oh, no, I cannot, Your Reverence” and “Do not force me, Your Eminence, I am but a frail and humble maiden” and, finally, “My parents taught me obedience to my betters, Your Reverence, but, alas, this day I have the curse.”

    “Oh, what a pair were the English ecclesiastic and the naive French nymphet! I began at last to lose the dismal gloom which had fallen over me in believing that I was brought back inexorably by the will of an unkind fate to the Seminary of St. Thaddeus. Indeed, when the driver of the coach bellowed, “All out for Somerset,” I confess I was almost anxious to hear the resumption of this English lesson, to say nothing of following closely the tallying of maiden love fronds! There is nothing quite so exciting, so thrilling, even to a flea, as the prospect of counting the cute, curly cunt hairs of a creature crying for congratulations upon carrying out the act of coming under the carnal influence of a cadaverous cock.


    When finally the coach halted and I heard the scurrying of footboys and the hoarse shouts of the coachman himself, I knew that we had arrived at the inn at Somerset. I recalled also Father Lawrence's mouthwatering description of the Lucullan feast that was in store for his three tender wards and himself, and my jaws ground enviously at the notion of feeding. Still, I was not really famished yet, so I could await with relative imperturbability the moment of deliverance, when I promised myself a goodly feast on diverse anatomies.

    That Father Lawrence had not been a braggart concerning his familiarity with the landlord of the inn at Somerset was demonstrated a few moments after our arrival, when a jovial, booming voice bade him welcome, “Zounds, good Father, step you down on terra firma and be welcome after your long journey. I have missed you greatly, and would, if your spiritual obligations do not take priority, sup with you this night, you to be my guest, and exchange confidences.”

    “I should like nothing better, my brave Thomas,” said the English ecclesiastic, “but on the morrow we leave at once for St. Thaddeus, where I am now to be quartered in my priestly endeavors.”

    “Not that seminary which boasts that ugly rogue by name, Father Clement, a veritable ogre to the luckless sinner and the entrapped wench who fall into his brawny clutches?”

    “The very same. But, look you, Thomas, I will need two rooms in your comfortable inn this night, for my three wards. Come, my daughters, we are in England, and here is the worthiest of hosts to greet you and look to your creature comforts. Why, not even the King himself and all his court could find better lodging nor more palatable viands than at the sign of the Dawn of Somerset!”

    “You do me too much honor, good Father,” chuckled the landlord. “Oh ho! Tonight my humble establishment will be graced with beauty such as never yet has set foot in it – not one, but three comely wenches, each more tempting than the other so that a poor devil of an unregenerate Protestant would not know with whom or where to begin!”

    “Aye, but he would doubtless know how, my valiant Thomas,” chuckled the English ecclesiastic. “Now pay heed before we repair to your havening hostel – these damsels speak but little English, being all from the heart of warm Provence in that nation which is notable for so much courtly handkissing! Therefore seek not to startle or affright them with your bluff and direct manner, for they are not common wenches, mark you, but rather delicate virginal novices intended for deliverance up to the holy men of St. Thaddeus, and hence their maidenheads must not be impaired by such fearful brunt as I know you capable of giving!”

    “The devil take it, and here I believed that you had, in honor of our brotherly reunion – for I knew you when you were but a stripling and no candidate at all for book and pulpit and mealymouthing, forget not that – conveyed these toothsome saplings hither that we might each of us let flow our vigorous sap to make them grow, if assuredly not big with child, fulsome with bedlore in the science of sweet buff-to-buff fucking!”

    But before the good Father could hush his exuberant friend, Marisia, with her sweet Gallic intonation imparting a cock-stirring inflection to the naughty word, had interposed in halting English: “Oh, mon Pere, is this already the Seminary, where we are to fuck?”

    “Hush, my daughter!” Father Lawrence quickly gasped, and then to his old companion of hearty cock-endeavoring: “Pay no heed to the sweet Marisia, good Thomas. The child has a mind like a parrot, and, now that I am teaching her the complexities of our honest English speech, seizes here and there upon a word that chanced to resound in her dainty little ears and, without warning or lewd intent – for she is pure virgin, have no doubt! – expounds it at the least occasion!”

    “Nay, I will not make the lass blush by chiding her over what she has just said – but damn if she has not unerringly grasped the very crux of the regimen which awaits her at that academy of cocksmiths!” the landlord laughingly declared. “And more, just from her enunciation of that delicious word, she stirs within my loins the readiness to that pleasurable act to which the word is so descriptively mated!”

    “Be that as it may,” Father Lawrence reprovingly countered, “she is not for you, nor are these delicious damsels Denise and Louisette!”

    “May I roast in everlasting fires if I do not tell the truth and avow to you, my erstwhile brother in combats against the handmaidens of Venus – who, I warrant you, are far more comely than ever you will find whoresons and rogues whose devil's breed you solemnly inveigh against in your new occupation – that this creature with soft pink skin and long tumbling wheat-colored curls makes me bethink myself of a time scarce thirty years ago when, during a thunderstorm, I took shelter in a friendly hayrick and found, to my unforgettable joy, a wench wearing only a torn kirtle and, like myself intent upon hiding from the storm. A double storm, it seems, for she had but recently fled through the fields to escape a fat bailiff who wished to tumble her and, in the process, ripped her kirtle down to two of the juiciest, roundest titties it was ever given with a lusty man to see and fondle and suck -”

    “Enough, enough, Thomas, I have heard that narrative a hundred times over. Aye, and in the consoling of her, did you not, though you were then – if your tale be accurate – no more than nineteen summers, know her in the Biblical sense some half-dozen times before the storm quieted and she with it? And each time in the retelling, that temptress' bubbies grow in span just as, I fear, the accomplishments of your untried cock!”

    “Damn for an uncircumcised villain if I had not by that time already initiated my cock in a score of beldames and maidens, for my first tumble was when I was but fourteen, a meager lad who knew his station.”

    “Aye, between the straining thighs of whatever wench would spread them for you,” the English ecclesiastic laughingly intervened. “But the demoiselle whom you have likened to your hayrick partner in carnal coupling is named Denise, and this coppery-haired coquette is her sister Louisette, nearly her twin but for the incidence of an hour between them in emerging from their worthy mother's fabricating womb.”

    “And these fair sisters, equally are they maidens, Father?”

    “Equally, though in varying degrees as to eagerness and zest. They can fend for themselves, I am certain, but I have taken them under my protection, as they plead to have their kidnapped young brother released from the dungeons of the evil Bey of Algiers. At St. Thaddeus, I will seek to interest the Father Superior in their special case so that intercession can be made to that infidel ruler. But now, let our luggage be taken to our rooms, and do you bring me a mug of good brown ale to toast your health, my amiable Thomas!”

    “My sister's young nephew Jemmy will see to the quartering of the wenches – aye, begging your pardon, Father, virgins then. Come you with me, and I will draw a cooling draught from a newly tapped barrel.”

    Next I heard the robust landlord call impatiently, “Jemmy, you worthless, shiftless scamp, stir your lazy stumps and be helping these young damsels to the two rooms on the second floor to the west! And mind you do not give them offense with your gawking about and your sheep's eyes, or I'll drub your young hide till every bone is broken!” Then, in a softer voice to Father Lawrence, “He's a good boy, but I keep him in his place by letting him fear my constant wrath. To praise and cozen him would be to let him grow slothful.”

    “A good precept. But how he blushes at the sight of my wards!”

    “'Tis because he is as yet untried in playing the game of the two-backed beast, though I've caught him more times than I would remember slipping his apprentice tool out of his breeches and pretending that he had a wench to ready for its entry.”

    “Poor youth! That is a pleasure which is more seemly when one comes to the last ages of man than the first,” Father Lawrence chuckled. “But my throat is parched, so let us sample this nut-brown ale you brag of worthy Thomas!”

    “T-this w-way, my – my 1-ladies,” I heard the little squeaky voice of a youth stammer out, and it was followed by soft giggles from the three fair wards. They might not yet be able to discourse in his native tongue, but I wagered they knew already what a fainthearted, blushing young son of Onan he must be, already stricken into gawkiness by the mere sight of three such luscious, tempting morsels of cunt.

    “Go with the estimable young man, my daughters,” Father Lawrence now bade them in French, “and I will come to you later when Thomas has prepared our dinner. I have told them, my friend, of your mouthwatering roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and the gooseberry tart. It will be a feast for them.”

    “Aye, if at St. Thaddeus they are to dine on black bread and water, and the scourge and droning prayers for dessert.”

    “Not so, go to, you sacrilegious rogue. My colleagues are, I trust, astute enough to tempt my wards with puddings and comfits and sweetmeats, if they hope to initiate them into the raptures of carnal communion.”

    “From what I know of that hairy bull Father Clement,” the landlord chucklingly gave reply, “he would fuck before a feast, during it and long after it, without once casting an eye on the groaning sideboards laden with viands.”

    “On what presumption do you thus defame the character of that worthy prelate?”

    “On what my own eyes beheld not a week hence, when he and two other portly priests commandeered my best rooms and ale and nearly a quarter of beef, sent my servants screeching for help from the sheriff to save them all from ravishment, and tumbled my bound girl Emily – though in all justice and fairness, I must tell you that she is readily tumbled. Come, the ale awaits us. Jemmy is not to be feared with your treasured lambs, so forget your momentous obligations for the nonce and let us talk of halcyon times when maidens would gaze at each of us in turn and then select him whose swollen weapon was the more fearsome.”

    “Ah, golden days of youth! But even in those dimly distant days, Thomas, I was selected at least thrice to your once!” the English ecclesiastic hilariously made answer.

    “Now that you wear the cassock of a learned and holy man who hears the confessions of heaven alone knows how many adulterous baggages,” the landlord jestingly if impiously intervened, “I will not boldly denounce you as a liar. But if for one night before you take up again your consecrated duties, set both of us upon those three fledglings, and on the morrow see whether I do not outscore you fully two to one!”

    “And what would that prove, good Thomas, save that you are a man of impatient appetites, which I knew years ago,” Father Lawrence laughed. “No, I am always charged with safe delivery, unmolested and unadulterated, of my wards to the Seminary. And while privately as a sinner who was once a man in breeches such as you are now, my good friend, I may pine to give them swifter delivery by far of their womanhood than any of my colleagues at St. Thaddeus, I would reproach myself to my dying day for having thus broken faith with my new order and the Father Superior who dispatched to me my orders to convert young souls to the blessed flock which is contingent upon him and his fellows. Ah, this ale is not at all impaired as I remember its vigor!”

    “It equals its provider as to that,” Thomas quipped.

    “And its drinker too, if that be true. Again, to your health!”

    “And yours!” Both men smacked their lips and then clanked their tankards down upon the counter, and the locket shook in his pocket and I in turn was shaken, but not sadly. For now I had learned much of my jailer; he had been a man of parts who loved the good things of life till, perhaps in some melancholy evening after carousal, he had seen a vision and repented. But just because he had been a sinner, he was more indulgent than most who are called to the dour black raiment of the priesthood. So I had compassion on his nocturnal strayings when Lucifer beckoned, for he had not come by venery with the assumption of the cassock, but long before he had even been persuaded to don it.

    After several tankards of nut-brown ale and many a hearty backslapping and exchanges of reminiscences of happy times past, the good landlord at length went to his kitchen to order the evening repast for his four new guests. I heard Father Lawrence sigh nostalgically, as if this reunion had brought back memories still too vivid to be churchlike, and then I heard the sound of soft footsteps and a sudden little catch of breath, followed by a stammered, hasty, “Oh, forgive me, Your Worship, I did not see you. Is there aught I may bring you for your comfort, holy sir?”

    “Be not afraid of my somber gown, my daughter. Are you perchance possessed of the Christian name of Emily?”

    “But indeed I am, Your Worship! Do you know me? Yet I confess I have not seen you at my master's hostel ere this.”

    “How old are you, my pretty creature?”

    “E-eighteen, Y-Your Worship.” There followed another gasp, and then a hesitant, “Do-do you truly find me so, Y-Your Worship?”

    “If I might see you alone at your prayers, my daughter, I would deem you nigh unto a young angel, or at least a seraphim, so comely is your presence. What a mantle of dark brown hair, like unto this agreeable ale in hue! And that visage, with pure high brow and dainty nose and full ripe mouth on whose soft lips prayers assuredly must speed faster to sympathetic listeners than from the lips of a duke or baron! Of medium height, yet not fragile, with richly ardent contours shaping out the modest veil of skirt and bodice. And such large, infinitely gentle dark brown eyes with long curly lashes that, I know, are quick to flutter and shut out the sight of iniquity! And yet, bound by indenture to a hard though just master, menial toil has not marred the peach-like bloom of your carnation skin, my daughter! And all this marvel of grace and youth and loveliness is called Emily!”

    “Ohhhhh, Y-Your Worship!” Emily breathed in awe-stricken adulation.

    I heard Father Lawrence chuckle benignly: “My daughter, you address me with the titular nomenclature befitting a judge on the bench, whereas I am far from that, being only a humble priest. Yet, not wishing to be rude in response to your evidently sincere greeting, which shows the deepest respect, I might tell you that as a judge – a mortal and unfrocked judge solely, I would pronounce your charms and bearing to be admirable. How long have you been indentured to my good friend Thomas?”

    “T-three years, Your – I mean – what am I to call you?” the minx stammered.

    “Father, or Your Reverence, or my true name, Father Lawrence. And I in turn shall call you my daughter Emily. Are you happy here, considering that no one who is bound over to another can truly know the ultimate of happiness?”

    “Oh, yes, Your – Your Reverence. My master is rough but kind, and does not beat me more than every other month, and mostly when I am lax in my chores.”

    “To recognize authority and discipline shows your inherently good nature, my daughter, and I am happy to state that he has not tyrannically enforced his rights as holder of your indenture. But tell me,” and now his voice was suavely unctuous, “has he sought other rights upon your lovely person?”

    “Oh, sir! I – I mean, Y-Your Reverence! He would not like me to prattle of such matters, I'm sure,” Emily gushed.

    “Then he has taken you to bed with him, my daughter?”

    “B-but it was not a sin, as he has no wife and is a man of nature, which has its needs as even a lowly bound girl has hers, Y-Your Reverence!”

    “Spoken with a tolerance that shows the essentially free spirit which motivates you, my daughter! Now, I am desirous to talking more privately with you after your duties are done this night. Will that be possible, my daughter?”

    “Y-yes s-sir. I – I mean, Y-your Reverence. I – I am off at ten, I am, and I have my own room, the master's very nice about such things, not making me sleep on a pile of straw in the cellar as he did the servant who was here before I came.”

    “And where is your room, dear Emily?”

    “At the top of the stairs, just off the broom closet, Y-Your Reverence. It is a little room, but then, as the master says, all a body needs a room for is to sleep in.”

    “Eminent wisdom, my daughter. Then, I look forward to our resumed discussion somewhat after ten this night. Thank you, my daughter, for your graciousness, and I will not occupy you further.”

    “Thank you, Y-Your Reverence!” And with a stifled little giggle – why must females emit that sound so resembling the muted bray of a jackass when under the stress of perfectly basic emotions? Emily scurried off for I heard a door bang to and assumed she must have gone back into the kitchen to see to the roast beef and all the other condiments of the forthcoming repast.

    I heard Father Lawrence sigh, “What a charming creature, that one!” and then, after a pause, say in louder voice, “And now to look in upon my lovely little wards to make sure they are cozily quartered.”

    And with this, he strode up the stairway to the rooms he had engaged, the locket and myself bouncing up and down in his cassock pocket every energetic step of the way.


    A scant half hour later, having doubtless freshened their sweet persons from the rigor of the journey by coach from Dover, Marisia, Louisette and Denise, accompanied by my unwitting jailer, came down to a table in the main dining hall of the inn to consume the viands prepared for them. Good Thomas regaled the three fair damsels with extravagant and flowery phrases, most of which they of course did not understand but for the prompt translations which Father Lawrence made from the English into French. Emily served the table at which the English ecclesiastic sat with his virginal wards, and from time to time, as she came to replenish the flagon of ale – or of milk for the damsels, to be sure – or to bring another loaf of crusty brown bread and to slice another generous portion of the rare roast beef, I heard Father Lawrence commend her in terms as flowery as those his host was using to attract the attention of these nymphets.

    Finally the feast was done with, and Thomas and my jailer drank a last toast in ale, and then Thomas yawned loudly and said he must be early to his bed, for on the morrow he was to provide lodging and victuals for a dozen gallants and their servants off to Dover to cross to France for the social season at the King's court.

    “You are excused, my good brother,” Father Lawrence genially exclaimed, “but I marvel that with so small a household staff you can provide for all your guests without failing in some measure of service. How is it that you did not take unto yourself a wife these many years, who might even now be readying herself to share the burdens with you?”

    “One need not own a cow to have milk, as you yourself well know,” replied that worthy, “and I have never felt the urge to fetter myself and submit to nagging day and night. I am happier with servants to direct, like that baggage Emily, who is humble, knows her place and, so far as female charms are concerned, is pleasant enough to gaze upon so that my guests do justice to my kitchen and my ale. Aye, if I had a wife, she would drive custom forth by ranting at them should one of the worthy gentry seek to pinch her bottom. But Emily is not so disposed, and, indeed, the baggage simpers and bridles when a worthy guest so favors her with such a posteriori attentions, considering them flattery to her station. No, give me a bound servant over a wife! Hey ho, I am yawning, and that is discourteous.”

    “It is the ale and your advancing years, my brother.”

    “Advancing years, do you say! You black-robed hellion, you are not so much younger that I cannot still best you at any sport, whether it be wenching or ale-quaffing!”

    “I cannot accept your challenge for the very reason of my black robe. But I warrant you, if you make inquiry at some future date, you will hear good reports of my manliness. Come, my daughters, say a sweet good night to Thomas here, your good host, and wish him the most enchanting of dreams for his lonely bed this night!” This last, in French, to his wards, caused once again a chorus of sounds I could by now dispense with, but it amused good Thomas, for he commended Father Lawrence on his excellent good taste and wished him a kind of envious joy in his charge of them. And so at last he left the table, and Father Lawrence, hearing the clock chime nine hours, urged his wards to bed.

    “Do you, Marisia,” he whispered into that young raven-haired siren's ear, “help Denise and Louisette be comfortable in their room, and ascertain they have the larger quarters and the wider bed. To this purpose, that you are to urge them to procure that accurate count which was essayed last sight, for it is vital that before they enter the doors of St. Thaddeus, they know to a follicle the exact number of pussyhairs which grace their virgin thighs. Go now, with my blessing, and do not let them – or yourself either, my dear child – tarry without sleep once they have completed this obligation.”

    “I will see to it for you, mon Pere,” the delightful young brunette exclaimed, and then there was the sound of a fervent kiss, followed by a girlish sigh. It was plain that Marisia's infatuation with the virile English ecclesiastic was growing by leaps and bounds and that he would have ere long far more temptations than ever St. Anthony was credited with shunning.

    After Marisia had left the room, Father Lawrence sighed contentedly and seated himself in a comfortable chair, to while away the time, I had no doubt, till the indentured servant girl should be free of occupation, whereupon he assuredly meant to furnish that to her. Presently he began to hum, and it was the bawdy tune he had picked up in Languecuisse and which he had so melodiously declaimed prior to his rendezvous with Georgette in the inn at Calais. But this time, after several false starts, he devised new verses pertaining to the moment soon to be at hand – or rather, to be more literal about the matter, at prick. These, to the best of my recollections, went somewhat as follows:

    In the inn at Somerset, tra-la-la,

    There's a bound girl who's a pet, tra-la-la.

    Sweet and shy, she will not fret, tra-la-la,

    Knowing my appetites she doth whet, tra-la-la.

    Master Thomas, to whom she owes, tra-la-la,

    Labor for her food and clothes, tra-la-la,

    Tells me she's his English rose, tra-la-la,

    And plucking buds is what he knows, tra-la-la.

    In our boyhood long ago, tra-la-la,

    Wenching ever we would go, tra-la-la.

    He and I the fairest sought, tra-la-la,

    Over many a cunt we fought, tra-la-la.

    Twenty years and more have passed, tra-la-la,

    Since we fucked the same girl last, tra-la-la.

    But methinks my cock's still the stronger, tra-la-la.

    Just as it is surely the longer, tra-la-la.

    So to Emily's room I go, tra-la-la,

    Seeking to prove that this is so, tra-la-la.

    Convincing doubting Thomases is now my trade, tra-la-la,

    And that's why I shall fuck his jade, tra-la-la.

    I had once again to marvel at his versatility and imagination. Improvised on the spur of the moment as it was (and also, doubtless, by the spur of his aching and cunt-eager prick), it could stand critical comparison with many a ballad hawked on London streetcorners for a few pence, just as, metaphorically speaking, Father Lawrence himself could assuredly stand in comparison with any lusty man who ever proffered prodding, palpable prick to quivering, expectant female cunt.

    Twice more, the life-loving English ecclesiastic repeated that witty ballad with all the suave persuasiveness of his mellow baritone, a voice with which he might have well made his fortune had he chosen that pursuit. And finally the time slipped by till the chiming of the old clock downstairs indicated that the hour had come for Emily's coming, at which time he slowly rose and silently made his way out of his room.

    As he entered the hallway, I heard muffled voices coming from the top of the stairway, and Father Lawrence muttered some sort of impatient imprecation which had to do with consigning all doubting Thomases to the boiling cauldrons consigned to the nethermost recesses of the inferno to which all unregenerate sinners go, and concealed himself against a slight curving of the wall. Sharpening my auditory senses, I could just make out a dialogue which began with a man's querulous voice: “Come, Emily my saucy baggage, you will not deny your master?”

    To which followed a plaintively murmured: “Oh, never would I do that, worthy sir, for you hold my indenture, yet I would beseech you to show compassion on my fatigue and weariness, for with the coming of your four new guests, I have sorely taxed my strength and want nothing so much now as benevolent sleep, that I may be fresh and eager for the tasks you set me on the morrow.”

    I heard a wordless grumble, doubtless of disappointment, and then the grudging, gruff: “Ah, well, I am not one to force a wench though I hold her indenture to my bosom. Get you then to bed alone, Emily, and mind you wake before dawn, for we must provide a sumptuous breakfast to our travelers before they set out for wicked London.”

    And then, “Oh, yes, that I will with right good heart, master. Thank you for your compassion, which a poor, honest girl is rarely to find this side of heaven.”

    To this, in a suspicious tone: “Why, look you, Emily, I would not have you confuse my good nature with the sanctimonious platitudes spouted by men who wear black cloth and gloomy faces and tell their beads, or next you will be demanding that I give you Sunday mornings off to go hear sermons that will depress you. So bed you down and think only of your indulgent master, who has not taken cane or strap to your plump backside in longer than is rightly good for a bound servant. Good night!”

    “And to you too, good master, a most good night!”

    “Aye, that would it be if you would be less fatigued – but look you, Emily, you may rest at the same time, for I am not an importunate man and can fuck a wench while she reclines comfortably 'pon her back without so much as moving. An' if you would but let me try, I would not fault you if I should discover you had gone off fast to sleep while I was completing my pleasure.” This last, hopefully.

    A giggle then ere this insinuating flattery which sent the ravening wolf from the door of this sweet fearful lamb: “Oh, master, would that it were so, and I would gladly bid you enter. But you know well, sir, that each time you have engaged my little slit with your monstrous big prick, I have been urged to forsake passive and docile submission to its inroads, for its thickness and length scrape and pierce me so vitally that I must respond or else faint dead away. And I fear me sorely that wearied as I am at this moment, I would do you great disservice by not responding.”

    A longdrawn sigh of thwarted desire ensued, after which good Thomas glumly announced, “No, 'tis true, I would not fuck a wench who did not clamp legs and arms about me and bite and scratch like a vixen taken in a trap, since fucking is more than meat to meat, it is substance and sustenance and combat and sweet conclave all in one. Therefore get you to bed quickly ere I repent my good nature which holds me back from ripping off your shift and entering that timid little crevice of yours whether you will allow me or not. For it is in my nature once I fuck, that I demand my receptive partner to announce with all loud exclamations of joy and frantic movements of her bottom and loins that she is blessed among wenches to feel so mighty a cunt-chafer inside of her, for to receive me otherwise would be to insult my manhood.”

    “And that I would never do, were it to cost me hope of your destroying my indenture, good master,” the pert Emily at once gracefully retorted.

    “Well then – since it is thus and is unchangeable by the very nature of my good nature – good night to you, fair Emily.” Would he stand there all night long wanting to stand a somewhat more pressing way, saying his sorely disappointed good nights? “Again, good night, good master.” And this time Emily gently closed her door. “Odds bodkins! I know not why I am so indulgent to that teasing slut,” I heard the landlord grumble as he descended the stairs, which creaked beneath his weight enough to impress me into believing that his horizontal weight upon sweet Emily would have produced as loud a creaking of the bed which hymned their carnal conclave.

    Father Lawrence waited a long moment till the inn was silent, and then he made his way slowly to Emily's door and tapped gently. Instantly it opened, and I heard her gasp, “Oh, quickly, Your R-Reverence, before my master hears.”

    “He is gone downstairs back to his bed by now, my daughter.”

    “Ohh, th-then you heard him just now?”

    “Every word, my daughter. But if you are too fatigued, I will not keep you up a moment longer.”

    “I am fatigued of him, to tell the truth, Y-Your Reverence.”

    “Oh? How so?”

    “He is at me like a bull even when I am not of a mind to play the heifer to his bellowings, Y-Your Reverence. And because I am under indenture to him, I know I must serve his will, yet that takes all the pleasure from it. It is as if I were his chattel, and there is no humor in so obliging him. For, Your Reverence, even a bound girl sometimes pines to be courted, to have the say as to whether she will yield or not, without having to fear a beating – though in all justice, he is merciful in that direction.”

    “I hold with your views, my dear child, for I do not countenance slavery of any kind. And, aye, I know your master well these thirty years, since we were striplings together; he has a good heart, that will I readily say of him. But does he not service you ably when you are of a mind to let him have at you?”

    “Oh, Y-Your Reverence, I dare not tell you!” Once again, that simpering giggle that expressed her titillated confusion. But she stood very close to my jailer, for, though her words were muffled – perhaps because her face was reposing against his manly chest – I heard them plainly.

    “When is your indenture up, my sweet child?”

    “When I shall be twenty-one, Y-Your Reverence.”

    “I will see that you come to no harm till then, my daughter. I will exhort him to find you a good husband when your time is served, and to settle on you a dowry of the wages you have earned all this while, for that is the law as to indenture.”

    “Oh, Your-Your W-Worship!” she breathed gratefully.

    His voice was hoarser now than it had been: “Not that titular appeal, my daughter, for I am not your judge, but your confidant. And thus in confidence and speaking confidentially which is the pursuance of my role this night, I say again that you are truly as fair as the daughters of Jericho who gave their warriors strength to stand against the battlements and fight valorously for the Lord.”

    “You – you turn my head, Y-Your Reverence!”

    “Nay now, Emily, I would have you turn yours that I may gaze upon the shimmering, lustrous mantle of your lovely hair which swathes you nearly to your hips.

    Ah were you fated like the good Dame Godiva to ride the streets on a palfrey thus to move the obdurate tyranny of a noble lord who would not remit his subjects' taxes, I warrant you might nearly shield all your most intimate person with such a soft silken cloak!”

    “Y-Your Reverence, you speak such fair words as no man has ever before spoken to me!”

    “And yet does not your master – for I know him from the past to be one who savors the fleshy joys of our ephemeral existence – cozen you with soft words in the heat of his pleasuring with you?”

    Once again the giggle of a maiden who doted on such titillating attentions, perhaps the more because, being bound, her favors could not always be so quixotically dispensed as her own ardent nature might have wished. “Oh, no, Y-Your Reverence! When he is in my bed taking his will of me, he utters rather more wordless sounds than sounding words.”

    “Tsk, tsk, my daughter, that is like a pig at a trough eating his fill without pausing to reflect on the palatability of his viands nor the blessed generosity by which they are served him! Alas, my old comrade-at-arms has had his wits dulled with the passing years. And tell me, my daughter, does he sigh rapturously when his mouth sets down upon those full, enticing rosy lips of yours – as thus?” To which, suiting action to word, the English ecclesiastic applied his mouth on fair Emily's and gave her a lusty long and smacking kiss.

    “Ohh! Ohh, never of late does he do that!” she gasped.

    “How much he misses, that shortsighted master of yours! And this, my daughter, does he oft do this?”

    I heard the rustling of garments, a tender scuffle, followed by an excited squeal of “Oooh – ahh – ouohh – Y-Your Reverence, how gentle your hands are on my arse, ohh, no, he pinches it and digs his sinewy fingers in cruelly when he is fucking – ohhhh, what is your finger doing there – ohh, how delicious it feels, you will make me cry out and then my master will hear me and know I have lied to him, for you are driving away all my fatigue!”

    “Tender child, you feel my fingertip at the portals of that rear entry to pleasure which some maidens disdain as being against nature – do you not find it disturbing?”

    “Oh, I do, I do, Your Reverence, of a certain, it so disturbs me I cannot wait till we are in bed – ohhh, let me but shed these garments of mine to be more ready for Your Reverence's desires, so very new are they to me!”

    “Is this perchance why, my gentle Emily, you forbade Master Thomas to cross your threshold, wishing to test your fleshly powers against mine?”

    “Tee hee! Oooh, Your Reverence – ahh – OH YOUR REVERENCE, ahh – ohh – you – you know everything in advance about me, do you not – ohh, how good it feels – oh how hard and red and angry-looking it is, forsooth much bigger than my master's – but you must not ever breathe a word to him that I find it so, or my poor arse will be black and blue for a dreary month!”

    “Wherefore did you shriek aloud at that moment, my child?” Oh, how hoarse and throbbing was my unsuspecting jailer's voice now!

    “I could – I could not help it, Your Reverence, when your finger penetrated into the little hole of my arse, for it tickled so wickedly that I very nearly yearned – oh, I dare not speak more – ohh, come to bed, I beg of you – I am longing to have that tremendously loaded pistol explode deep inside of me!”

    “In the orifice where my finger was, perchance?”

    “Oh, I have never had that done to me, Y-Your Reverence!”

    “The thought frightens you?”

    “Not so much the thought – for already, seeing you so strong and handsome and naked and like a new man I had never before espied, now that you had removed your awesome raiment, Your Reverence – but the deed itself! I could not support so massive an article inside so narrow a fissure, I am sure of it!”

    “But all things are possible if one does not in advance set up impediment of the mind, my daughter, and we will try this essay after I have soothed you to it. Come, give me your lips, sweet Emily!”

    By now, needless to say, they were abed, and I had been unceremoniously flung into a corner, locket in pocket of discarded cassock. But the room was small and hence I still could clearly make out what tangibly passed between them in the way of speech, even though I might not yet behold what tangibly passed between them – though, thanks again to my most articulate locket-holder, I was given graphic portrayal which you in turn, my esteemed reader, may delineate as befits your whim and fantasy.

    Thus I could distinctly make out sweet Emily's somewhat ambiguously naughty response to his last query: “Which lips, Your Reverence?” which told me that the indentured beauty understood that a beneficent nature had bestowed on her three pleasure-giving, pleasure-receiving pairs.

    “Those beneath your saucily upturned nose, my daughter,” Father Lawrence specified, and there was now the mellifluous music of a long impassioned moist kiss, after which Emily panted out, “Ohh, s-sir – my master has never so employed his tongue!”

    “Surely you jest?”

    “Oh, I never jest about being f-fucked, Y-Your Reverence,” Emily moaned in a tone which rather gave me to suppose that she was mightily absorbed in the strangely but far from unpleasantly new manner in which Father Lawrence was caressing her.

    “But you should and must, my child, for fucking, being a bounty granted us after Eden, is never to be done gloomily nor hastily, lest one dull one's senses to the rarely complex nuances whereby mortal flesh is granted incomparable joys!” How well he spoke of fornicatory endeavors! I do not think in all my lifetime I had yet met one who was so imaginatively endowed to be capable of composing a very sermon on this provocative theme.

    “B-but my m-master does not like his wench to jest while he is f-fucking her,” Emily quavered.

    “Then I can plainly see why it was you opened the door to me, Emily, as you are about to open those other delicious portals of your most intimate person to permit my prick to journey as it has never before journeyed, for, mark you, no conscious, intelligent man should ever lose sight of the wondrous and devious implementations of carnal gratification when he is above all else bedded with a female to whom the art, though known, is yet comparatively new. And since your master has regrettably overlooked these ramifications, my greater pleasure it will be to render your sweet naked person fully cognizant of them! For example, has he ever so utilized the membrane by which he tastes his viands and his rich ale in this estimable manner?”

    “Ohhh! Your Reverence! Ahh! Ohh never like that on my cunny, ohh I am dying, it is more than I can bear, ohh, how good, how heavenly it is, Your Reverence – aohhhhhouuuu!”

    “Hush, hush, my daughter, keep your voice down, for when one exults unto the heavens, one cannot possibly project one's voice farther than a trumpet which cannot even reach a thousandth way to the setting sun. Yet the angels hear the faintest whisper of the penitent and the hopeful, therefore moderate your tone lest Master Thomas be summoned, like Lazarus, up from the dead of his lonely slumbers!” cautioned Father Lawrence. To which Emily hoarsely whispered, “Oh, forgive me, forgive me, Your Reverence, but what you did was like nothing ever in this world – oh, will you not do it again, and I will cram my kerchief into my mouth to hold back my cries of gratitude!”

    “On such terms, gladly will I strive with you, my daughter, to reach paradise anew,” he chuckled. “But in the spirit of equality and fair play, will you not use your own soft lips and tongue to the granting of my cock's pleasure, whilst I endeavor to bring you to the zenith of fleshly bliss!”

    “Ohh, whatever are you doing – getting over me and with your head between my thighs – and now I see the dangling big sacks with hair and -”

    “And spunk, my daughter, a goodly offering which is like newly fermented wine for you to quaff, as I shall quaff the sweet liqueur which is distilled in the soft hidden vat of your delicious cunt!”

    He had taken the pose of soixante-neuf over the bound girl, had this intrepid cocksmith. Perhaps he was motivated by the thought that tomorrow night he would spend his first night in the sanctified atmosphere of the Seminary – where he might not be permitted to spend at all, as it were – and hence sought – much as bachelors who hold what is termed a 'stag' party as a sad farewell to single blessedness seek a final orgy before contenting themselves with but a single legally granted cunt into which to spend their erotic effusions.

    “Oh, prithee, Your Reverence, what are you doing to my tender slit with your lips and tongue – ooooh, eeee, ahhh, ohh, I have never felt such pleasure and such torture at the same time!” she squealed, but now it was muffled by the kerchief.

    “I am gamahuching you, my daughter, and now you must French me, since I am but newly come from that beautiful country and am still imbued with the uninhibited spirit of its inhabitants!”

    “How – how does one F-French, Your Reverence?”

    “Do you mean to say, my daughter, that your master has not yet taught you this most tantalizing prelude to the art of fucking?”

    “Oh, no – he flings me down upon my bed, or over a table, as it takes his fancy – and then, rucking up my kirtle and lowering my drawers, he plunges inside of me his great cock and thrusts it as if I were a boar to be stuck by a spear and wounded unto death, until at last his venom spurts forth and he lies heavily upon me!”

    “Oh what a fall from grace is this, and how the years have dulled his perceptions and his priapic potencies,” cried Father Lawrence in right good humor to behold that he had surpassed his former cocksmith-in-arms. “Then I will instruct you, that you may in turn show your failing master a new skill in his declining years, and thus improve your lot, for in his gratitude to discover what intoxicating joys he has lacked for all this while, he will doubtless raise you to a position of honor in his household! Now, then, my dear child, open your soft lips, whilst at the same time passing your soft arms round my sturdy thighs, which will not give way, so fear no harm from my bulk, which if I mistake not, is not so great as that of your doughty master!”

    “I – I am doing it, Y-Your Reverence and – and what comes next?”

    “Why, now, my daughter, brush your lips – which should be in the form of a small letter O by this time – right up against the lips of that glistening and surging head which fits at the top of my cockshaft -o ahhhhhh, that is exquisite! For a neophyte, you make an auspicious debut!”

    “Ohh-ohhhh…” From the stridency of these squeals, I divined that Emily had removed the kerchief from her mouth, as otherwise she could hardly have soared so high in the soprano register.

    “Shh, my daughter! I am gamahuching your cunt, that is all. Now spread your thighs a little – very good, my child – ah, what an exciting oasis I perceive here, shrouded so thickly with dark brown silken curls that modestly conceal the plump pink lips of your appetizing cunt. Let us see if my tongue cannot forage through the foliage to come at last upon that sacrosanct crevice.”

    “Mmm – ahh – ouououooohhhhh!” Judging by Emily's piercing cry and the sporadic creaking of her trundle bed, I deemed he had proved successful in that lingual expedition through the jungle of her fleece – and that only reminded me dourly of my own imprisonment in the by now loosened tendrils of Laurette's blonde lovecurls.

    “There, I have found the sheltered nook and will pasture there till I bring you to felicity, my daughter. Do you now accord me the same sweet grace by opening your lips somewhat wider so that they may accept the very tip of my still aching cock – just so, a little more-now close those tender lips upon the morsel you have sequestered – ahhh, ohh, 'tis infinitely pleasurable, my child! Now, suck in your breath in rapid sequence, which, as you will soon perceive, works wonders even upon the most laggard of men – a precept you may retain in memory when next your master seeks to cross your threshold… go on just so, my daughter… ohh, my daughter, how obediently you perform your oblationary task, and do you not feel the hardening of my organ?”

    “Y-yes, Y-Your Reverence – and the heat of it burns my lips, truly it does!”

    “Have no fear of that, I know a cardinal way to put out such incendiary blazes,” he hoarsely avowed, and now I heard the slushing which his tongue made in that soft fork between her straddled thighs, and heard the convulsive starts which Emily's posterior gave to make the bed creak noisily, as well as her gasps and sighs and little joyous groans. Yet the minx was not neglecting her duties either, as I knew from the little sucking sounds that emanated from her mouth.

    “And now prepare yourself, my daughter, for I mean to touch you to your very quick,” he panted. Whereupon there was a sudden catching of breath, and then Emily let forth a wailing plaint: “Aii – ouuououoohhh – ohhhh I will die of it, it is too tantalizing to keep me silent longer, Y-Your Reverence – ohhhh, not again, I feel myself transfixed as by a current of lightning passing all through my poor frail limbs.”

    “If you feel restlessness, my child, solace yourself by clamping your soft thighs about my cheeks, and by their convulsive surges against my flesh, I will perceive exactly where you are most sensitive,” he told her.

    For a moment Emily resumed her sucking of his cocktip, but then he must have lodged his tongue against an even more sensitive particle of her clitoris – for I was sure that touchstone of her Venus was what he had just alluded to – because the bed creaked mightily and her rising wail soared to the very ceiling if not to the listening heavens beyond: “Eeeeohhhahhhouuuuuu! Ohh ohh ohhhhh you are drawing the very life from my poor body, Your Reverence, ohh, I cannot bear it any more, oh do what must be done to end my torment!”

    “Well, I had thought to drain your delicate liqueur by this lingual means, my daughter, but since you are still a young neophyte, one must not expect progress too swiftly, and there will be other times in store for you to practice with your master. Therefore open your thighs wide to receive my blade, which your delightful suckings have whetted into a savagely sharp blade for the penetrating of your cunt!”

    There was more creaking as doubtless he took his place in the age-old way, and then a smothered cry from Emily, for he had silenced her with his mouth, exuding his own pent-up groan of ecstasy at the moment his straining prick jousted inside the twitching pink chasm of her churning young cunthole.

    “Ohhhhhhhh, it has never been so good, Your Reverence! I must ask my master to – what did you say it was, Your Reverence?”

    “To gamahuch you, my dear child. And in turn you must offer to French him, for, mark you well, when a wench can orally excite her master in two languages, her value is enhanced at least two fold. Therefore, you will let your master know that you fuck in English and French in that tongue, and, I guarantee it, my daughter, he will reward you handsomely with more attention than you have enjoyed since first you signed that indenture. But now, clasp me strongly with your firm round thighs, my child, and as it seems best to you, dig your slim fingers into my sturdy back, for now I propose to fuck you till my spunk puts out that fire of which you so mightily complain!”

    And this he did, dear reader, to the accompaniment of gasps and sobs and sighs and then impassioned kisses and incoherent, trembling phrases which gave him the serving wench's accolade, for, if you would believe her avowals, she had never known what true fucking was till that ecstatic moment when first the prick of the valorous new seminarian was plunged into her eager, burning cunt. And to such an extent did he keep his pledge to extinguish that blaze of which she had so piteously complained that nothing would do but that he must begin, almost at once thereafter, a second course for which she readily fortified him by, and of her own accord, using her lips and tongue to make his tireless organ salute her before sheathing itself one more time into that willing scabbard…


    She was loath to have him part from her, but he enjoined her to turn her head upon her pillow and seek the solace of sweet dreams – in which he intimated he would return – since he needs must go look to his young wards, who would be feeling quite deserted by now. So once again I was jiggled into almost indignant wakefulness by the redonning of his cassock, and then he tiptoed back to the room which, of the two, was to be his. He did not find anyone there, which I could almost have told him, for I guessed that Marisia had grown so absorbed in the completion of the tallying of pussyhairs between Denise and her sweet older sister Louisette that the time had sped almost without thinking of it.

    So he betook himself to the other room, knocked lightly on the door and then opened it, whereupon a chorus of squeals and gasps greeted him. I did not need vision to conjure up the details of what he beheld: doubtless all three virgins cosseting together and sweetly entwined whilst comparing their hirsuteness. But such it was, as he discovered when, in answer to his query, “My daughters, you seem so industrious that I should withdraw and not disturb you,” sweet Marisia ventured: “Oh, mon Pere, Denise and Louisette have nearly completed their tallying, as you bade me tell them to do.”

    “What admirable obedience, what dutifulness, what rectitude in the face of temptation,” he praised them. “And so I will wait here till the tally is done, so I may instruct you on how you are to make use of these magic figures once you become novices of St. Thad-deus.”

    He then plumped himself down, jiggling me into instant readiness, uttered a languid sigh-indisputably the manifestation of the fiery appeasement he had experienced between Emily's satiny plump thighs – and patiently waited till the maidens should have ended their delicate labors. I could faintly make out such excited murmurs as “No, that counts as two, because they do seem to grow together from the same pore, Denise!” and “Nay, you are wrong, you must separate each and every one carefully and push to one side those you have already counted!” as well as a good many “Aii – oooh, stop tickling, or I shall never be able to count properly!”

    But at length, after some fifteen minutes, as I should adjudge, Denise exclaimed, “Oh, mon Pere, I have completed the tally of Louisette's cheveux de con and I make them to be no fewer than two-hundred and ninety-four.”

    “Then you are more hirsute than Marisia, my daughter. And what of your own count – is Louisette – AH, YES, I see the dear child is intently peering between your lovely round thighs and assiduously separating each silken strand, sprig by soft curly sprig!”

    “I have told her she must not give way to impulse and kiss or lick me there, mon Pere, till the task is done,” Denise huskily proffered.

    “A most commendable show of zeal and stringent discipline, without yielding to the vagaries of momentary fleshy temptation,” he responded benignly.

    “Oww – you pulled one that time!” Denise suddenly indignantly made outcry, to which Louisette sulkily countered: “I did but separate one from the other, and if you would but sponge yourself there more often, my sister, the hairs would not cling together as if they were grafted on the same follicle!”

    “Children, children, let us contain ourselves and remain amicable,” he chided. “Quickly, complete the task, Louisette!”

    And so, after a few moments more, she did, announcing that over the sweet maiden cunthole of her sister Denise there were exactly two-hundred and ninety-nine hairs.

    “Now that raises a most interesting theoretical question,” he propounded. “You are an hour older than Denise and seemingly more mature, from what you have told me of your practices with Guillaume and with your own mourned-for brother Jean, yet she has five hairs the more. Now are those extra silken strands the result of greater moisture and warmth in that garden, which would accelerate the growth of all verdure, or is the soft constituency of her skin more given to delicate pores from which spring these tendrils that seek to entwine over the maiden crevice and mysteriously conceal it from profane view? At any rate, the hour is late, and we must seek our rest for the finale of our journeying. Now, my dear Denise and Louisette, listen carefully. Each of you must memorize her own private tally. Then, when one of the burly holy men of the Seminary takes you aside and entreats you to yield to fucking, you must sweetly – but with your eyes downcast in an attitude of the most pious humility – respond that you have taken a vow to protect your chastity until he who is destined to possess it can guess within five sprigs of the total count of intimate foliage over your maiden orifice.”

    “I understand, mon Pere,” Denise giggled, and Louisette forthwith expressed her total comprehension of this playful ruse. I wondered how efficacious it would be in putting off the bull-like vehemence of such a man as Father Clement!

    “See that you do and thoroughly, or I cannot hold out for the duration of your sweet maidenhead, my daughter,” he admonished.

    “But, mon Pere,” Denise went on, “since you now know the correct total, what is to prevent you from confronting me with it when I tell you in turn that I have taken such a vow?”

    He uttered a hearty, jovial laugh which showed the very zest of his temperament. “To be frank with you, my child, nothing in the world save my own conscience and yours, and if these two are met upon a time when the imperious urge of candid nature wishes to strip away the smug differences of status between us, then you will know what your answer will be.”

    “I know it now, mon Pere,” Denise huskily vouchsafed, “I would so much like to have you place your great becque into my little con and teach me truly of good fucking. I love to have Louisette baise mon con, mon Pere, mais je prefere infiniment le vrai baiser de con, qui est fait et accompli avec un bite enorme!”

    Oh, the ingenious little virgin hussy, the little French minx, the hot-blooded ingenue and virga intacta, to be so adroit in outpunning Father Lawrence. What she had just said, dear reader, I translate literally as follows – and you will recall I have already pointed out the delightfully bawdy meaning of the French word “baiser,” which means to kiss as it does to fuck: “I love to have Louisette kiss my cunt, Father, but I infinitely prefer to have my cunt kissed (fucked), which is done best with an enormous prick!”

    “There is no gainsaying the correctness of your declaration, my child,” he told her, “but so that you will sleep peacefully, I will myself baise ton con exquise, mais avec ma bouche. Le bite est reserve pour une occasion d'autre temps celebre!” (I myself will kiss your exquisite cunt, but with my mouth this time. For my prick is reserved for a more celebrated occasion!)

    Once again he doffed his cassock, dropping it lightly onto a chair or some such piece of furniture near the bed, and clambered upon it. Marisia and Louisette acclaimed him with soft cooing sighs and murmured words, and I could overhear the sweet clear voice of the hour-older sister pronounce, “But surely there will be no one at the Seminary to which we are bound who is so huge down there, Marisia, and that is why I cannot rest till I feel his bite inside my little con.”

    To which the raven-haired minx tartly responded, “But you know quite well that if he will fuck any one of us three, it will be myself the first, since he knew me before he was even aware that you so much as existed, Louisette, so wait your turn and do not harass him!”

    Oh, what a harem this most indulgent of priests had acquired in so short a time, whereas mere members of the laity are fortunate indeed to cozen a haughty wench into marriage, and still fewer to retain a secret love-companion waiting for them in clandestine rendezvous when they tire of their brides. Three, mark you, three tempting, nubile temptresses, all technically untouched virgins – though hardly so pure as the driven snow, which is a simile the scribblers have coined to delineate sexual chastity. And all of them in rivalry for the honor of absorbing within her maiden channel the enormity, the breadth, the vigor and the gristle-cartilage-edifice of his virile prick – nay more, openly and within his hearing telling him how each languished for that honor! Was he not, dear reader, already better off by far than this despotic Bey of Algiers who had spirited away the brother of the two French sisters for the Bey needs must command his concubines to harlotry with him under pain of lash and bowstring if they do not readily submit; while here Father Lawrence had only to crook his finger (and bare his manly, always tirelessly willing cock) to have a very feast of fuckery!

    Yet now from the soft slurpings of tongue and lips applied to cunt and then in turn soft girlish lips laid piously upon sturdy throbbing prick, I knew that Father Lawrence and Louisette, the hour-older sister, were at oneness in that pose known as soixante-neuf, and not much later I discerned, from the murmurs and sighs and exquisitely fluted love-cries that Marisia and Denise were emulating the English ecclesiastic and his partner thusly.

    “Take care, my daughters,” Father Lawrence left off gamahuching Louisette long enough to caution, “in your sweet mouthings do not seize a single follicle of maidenhair and wrench it out by the roots, or you will render the tally erroneous, and so, should a worthy prelate hold you to that vow and insist either on your counting out your cunthairs for him or making by himself that momentous reckoning, he will not confound you as a lying jade and so visit upon you his wrath forthwith and declare your vow not binding on his demanding cock!”

    “I have made Marisia push my hairs apart with her fingers to lay bare my little con just in anticipation of that danger, mon Pere,” was Denise's husky retort.

    “What foresight, my daughter! Armed with such imaginative wisdom, I tell you it will not surprise me overmuch if you pass through your novitiate unfucked and thus retain your cherished virginity,” he replied. “But let us hasten to bring joy to our sweetly accommodating partners as to ourselves, that we may all get sleep enough to strengthen us for the remainder of our journey. Ah, Louisette, how daintily your cunt has a way to open its pretty pink mouth for my tongue, and how that little button at the top of those two inner labia which lead to the mystic canal of your affections boldly flaunts itself, erect and throbbing, as if boasting that it has a kinship with my own turgid weapon! So come, I will salute it – thus – and – thus – and again thus!”

    “Ahh – ouuu – ohhh, je meurs – je meurs – ahh, ohh, baise mot vite – je viens, je viens, ouuooooahh!” Louisette cried in a hoarse, trembling voice that told me she was both dying and coming and that she was wishing to be fucked quickly, but of course he only half-assuaged her, tongue-fucking being, though delicious, not hardly the consummation of her innermost desires.

    Yet it sufficed. And then Marisia and Denise made their own impassioned chorus of cunt-appeasement and each gave down her lovedew, and then sweet serenity reigned, and Father Lawrence tiptoed back to his room alone, leaving his three wards to sleep in the single bed and dream of what awaited them on the morrow.


    It was late afternoon of the next day when the coach from Somerset deposited the good Father and his three French virgin wards before the doors of the Seminary of St. Thaddeus.

    “Now remember, my daughters,” he counseled all three, “at the moment I ring this bell to summon the old sacristan – who, by the way, does not take part in the nocturnal confessionals to which all novices are subjected by the order of priests – you pass from childish games and maidenly whims to the stern rigors of a discipline which may astound you. There are three here of whom you must especially beware: the Father Superior himself, who never tells any maiden his Christian name lest she conceive a secret passion for him by thus cherishing it in her heart after his member has been lodged well inside her cunt; the red-haired, massive-cocked Father Clement, and the bull-like Father Ambrose, a very satyr of a man, with curling black hair that almost hides the huge gnarled sacks wherein he stores his never ending potions of hot bubbling spunk. The others, and there are, with myself added as I am told, an even dozen, are of varying dangers to you, my chaste wards. Hence remember earnestly your vow, and better yet, the tally about which it is concocted. Are you all of a mind to retain this good advice?”

    “Mon Pere, one question,” Marisia unexpectedly spoke out, and ah, I shall forever bless that raven-haired young baggage in my own unholy orisons.

    “Two, if need be, but hasten. The evening meal is of an excellence which even surpasses the viands which good Master Thomas furnished us last night.”

    “I have thought of an idea,” Marisia explained. “A vow is all very well, but what if the priest asks on what sacred relic it was sworn? Now, the locket which you confiscated from me mon Pere – might I not produce it and say it was given me by Saint Laurette herself?”

    “My daughter, from what I have heard no virgin has ever managed to end her days as novice at St. Thaddeus and either go forth into the temporal world or cloister herself in a nearby convent known as the Convent of St. Anne the Deaf (who, it is purported, attained sainthood because when a lusting rogue of handsome measurements, lineage and features stole to her bedchamber of a dark night and whispered to her that he was wild to fuck her, she, being deaf, could not hear him and so went into the watercloset and locked the door, and ever since that day this rogue swore that no woman was e'er so chaste) with her virginity still intact. But with the artifice you have just devised, I swear by all I hold dear that you have a bright and hopeful chance. Here, then, is your locket, my dear child.”

    I felt him plunge his hand into the pocket of his silken cassock. Oh joy indescribable, to be once more with sweet Marisia! And then I felt myself moved about as he handed her the token. “Keep it guarded but in readiness, my daughter, so that when you are brought to bay of a priest who will hear only your 'Yes' of avowal and never your 'No' of virginal refusal, you may produce it and hold it up as a venerable relic, much as did the Holy Crusaders who plundered the Saracen camps and once, it is recorded, finding the jawbone of a jennet – which is an ass, my daughters – did mistake it for the thighbone of Sulieman the Damned. Yet with such good faith did they champion their mistaken discovery that many great battles were won and many maidens ravished and thus brought to the true faith, for a Christian cock is blessed over the Saracen blade as all righteous folk are well aware of. Now, I ring the bell, my daughters!”

    This he did, whilst the sweet raven-haired Marisia tucked me away in her bosom, putting the little chain about her neck and letting the locket slip down under the bodice, so that I reposed – or at least my prison did with me inside it – as close to naked girl-flesh as I had once done on the fair Bella and then Julia when I had first made acquaintance with the Seminary staffed by such envigored codes as would terrify all the maids in Christendom.

    There was a great creaking of the heavy oaken door, and a senile, white-haired man in the simple black habit of a lowly friar stuck his head out and croaked, “Who rings with such unseemly impatience? This is a holy house, and all are at meditations.”

    “Go tell the Father Superior that it is Father Lawrence come to begin his assignment to the venerable Seminary. Oh, white-haired sacristan, speed your aging limbs!” (This reply, my readers, was how I learned of the physical lineaments of the sacristan.)

    “He is at his beads in the cell of penitence.”

    “With a fair novice, I would guess,” Father Lawrence quipped.

    “Aye! But that is not your affair. How do I know you are truly meant to quarter here?” the old man suspiciously whined.

    “Clear the rheum from your dimming eyes, my good sacristan, and behold three fair novices, aye, as fair as ever entered St. Thaddeus. Tell the Father Superior of what your vision has been, and I warrant you he will slice your portion a larger slice by fair of the good mutton than you have had in a fortnight! Go, dispatch, keep not three tender virgins waiting!”

    The door swung wider now, and the old man hobbled off cackling to himself, and Father Lawrence gently ordered, “Come, my daughters, cast down your eyes and be not bold of speech or manner, but remember what little English I have lately taught you. You are to remember foremost the English phrases, 'I have taken a vow, my Father,' and 'I cannot give myself without my vow, Father.' Then also, when you see the gleaming eyes and the reaching hands that hunger for your sweet bodies, you must say, 'Oh no, I prithee, Father, it is against my vow!' Now these three goodly terms should suffice you at least for this first night. Later, as I can, I will hurriedly impart to you other answers, and you in turn must relay to me the behavior of your holy and vigilant accosters. For remember that under each cassock, no matter how thick to veil nor how somber black to disperse thought of carnal indulgence, there stirs the prick of a mighty stalwart throbbing to bring you out of your novice state to blessed fulfillment. Ah, here comes the Father Superior now! He has more gray hairs than when I last saw him, and his face is flushed and his collar is awry. As I thought, he was interrupted at a most grievous moment of confessional.” Then raising his voice, Father Lawrence called out cheerily, “I greet you, most Reverend Father Superior, as myself a novice priest assigned by my estimable superiors to take education with you and your devout familiars. Doubtless you have had this word, and I am Father Lawrence.”

    “I bid you welcome to St. Thaddeus,” replied the mellow voice of the Father Superior, which was an instrument that could play as many tunes as a Westminster organ – for I had heard full many of them in my earlier days, you will recall. “Ah, but when my sacristan told me that three fair virgins were in tow with you, I could not believe my ears but hastened to see for myself.”

    “This is the tender Marisia, orphaned and then adopted by a worthy French patron of a humble village in Provence, who, peace to his eternal soul, departed this earth and hence the child implored me to bring her to a place of sanctity.”

    “Ah, what devotion, what gentle grace shines on her piquant face. What black silken hair falls in tender curls about her winsome shoulders! My child, have done with your rue and tears, you are come blessedly to our safekeeping. And these two others, Father Lawrence?”

    “Sisters, my eminent Superior, Denise and Louisette. Denise is blessed with wheat colored tresses and this delicious pink skin your sharp eyes doubtless have already marked, while Louisette has hair the hue of copper, and her gray-green eyes are clear as those of the purest angel, for, like Denise, she is virga intacta.”

    “All three, then, are French?”

    “By birth, indeed, worthy Superior. I have taught them all some little English to aid them through the period of novitiatehood.”

    “We shall teach them a great deal more, and of Latin also, since French stems from the mother tongue of Mother Church,” the Father Superior chuckled. “Yet why do these sisters wish enlightenment in a foreign land?”

    “Their young brother had been stolen away and delivered up to the notorious Bey of Algiers as a slave. I met them in Calais, where they had journeyed from their distant little village to beg aid from some valiant and courageous ship captain who would sail them to the Bey's port there to implore his release from that despotic ruler. And I told them that here, where we have parishioners who give gold pieces to the furtherance of good and holy works, they might well find the aid they prayed for.”

    “Ah, you have done heroically, and you need not apply the lowly term of novice to your station, good priest – quadruply welcome, for yourself and these three immaculate virgins without sin who come under your protective wing to take shelter at St. Thaddeus. But come, we are preparing the evening meal, and you four shall sit at my right hand and partake of our hospitality and our company, so that these tender maids will be accustomed to our joviality. For our order of St. Thaddeus, whatever you may have heard of its disposition, is not a gathering of hellfire and brimstone-breathing priests who never smile or never see good things in a blade of grass or a rising star, but rather of hale and hearty men under the black robe linked in a felicitous congress to enlighten and fortify the timid novice with their own amiable and valorous spirits.”

    In French, Marisia murmured to Father Lawrence, “What is all that he says?”

    To which the English ecclesiastic replied, in as low a voice, “It is like the bait for the mouse which the waiting cat spreads out. Pay it little heed, but be wary of all such lengthy orations in the name of welcome.”

    “What are you saying to the child, the one you call Marisia?” the Father Superior now interposed.

    “Why, my eminent head of the order, only that she might cross all the seven seas and never again hear so fulsome a welcome which is benediction and graciousness made one.”

    “You are fluent in several tongues, and I foresee you will be a valued adjunct to our humble tasks here at St. Thaddeus,” the Father Superior remarked with the most pleasant of tones. “Come now, you must meet the company.”

    But hardly had all of us gone but a few steps towards the edifice which stood just beyond the gate than the Father Superior chuckled, “Ah, your vigorous ringing of our bell has startled some of the others. There is Father Clement, and also Father Ambrose.”

    Turning to his wards, Father Lawrence murmured in French, “These are the dangerous ones, all three; be on your utmost vigilance when they approach you, my daughters.”

    “Good evening, good eventide and be welcome to our seminary,” I heard the sonorous voice of Father Ambrose, the short, stout, somewhat corpulent priest who had been first to convert Bella somewhat in advance of her entry into this gentle abode of succor and sanctity to wayward girls, orphans and timid virgins.

    Quickly Father Lawrence introduced his wards, and to Father Clement, the man of red hair and the bludgeoning prick who had possessed sweet Bella after the Father Superior and, as I recall, given that tender damsel such a test as to cause her to faint, even though she had previously been able to support the first two holy men within her sensitive lovechasm.

    “What cherubims, what angels,” Father Ambrose sighed, “such sweet additions to our order! They are virgins?”

    “I can attest to it, since I have protected them from bodily harm and mortal sin since my first days in that village of Provence and then most lately in Calais, and as was imperative upon me, made them bring me their confessions,” Father Lawrence declared.

    “Oh, what bliss it will be to instruct them in the arts of their novitiatehood,” gasped the fat priest, whose wheezing breath told me that he was already savagely in a ruttish state at the mere thought of prying apart the tender rosy petals of those three maidenly cuntholes.

    Father Clement, too, added his own admiring observations, so it was plain that Marisia, Denise and Louisette already had three hugely potent admirers and that if Father Lawrence should decide to quit his duties as their guardian, they would not at all be left friendless and without sponsors.

    At the refectory, a chorused cry of acclaim rose from the already seated priests at the sight of the lovely trio. The Father Superior, taking his place at the head of the long wide festal board, called for silence and declared that St. Thaddeus was renowned for its hospitality to those of unhappy circumstances and since these three charming maidens had come to fling themselves at the door of the seminary to seek protection, he would impose a solemn oath on all his colleagues to gratify their most earnest wishes.

    Father Lawrence was introduced with effusive praise by the Superior as the man who had crossed the stormy Channel to conduct these timid virgins safely to the fold of righteousness, and then all fell to most heartily, as the swallowings and chompings and gasps of good cheer rose in that merry room.

    I gathered that the priests were served by handmaidens, as was the custom when I could observe with my own keen vision, because midway through the soup, Father Lawrence exclaimed, “If St. Thaddeus can boast of such lovely novices, then I am all the more grateful for my assignment to this holy order!”

    “This, good colleague,” said the Superior in an engaging tone, “is our sweet Bella, who is unsurpassed in caring for each of us as if we were her actual progenitors. She knows us one and all and has taken our measure of devotion. Fifteen sweet summers have rested lightly on her plump white shoulders, but she has already shown the patience and generosity of a bride twice that age.”

    Yet from the envious ardor in his voice, I guessed that, overly familiar with plump young Bella's luscious charms, he was already smacking his lips in anticipation of comparing the more nubile and surely purer beauties of Marisia, Denise and Louisette. “They are French,” he explained to the other priests.

    “That explains why they do not speak but shyly gaze at us and wink their lovely eyes,” Father Clement proposed, amid a roar of laughter.

    “The question, methinks, is not are they, but do they?” spoke up a lean, nearly bald priest in his mid-thirties, named Father Diomedes. And this salacious quip drew redoubled roars of Homeric laughter. Yes, it all came back to me; I could recall the voice, the quips of each.

    No, St. Thaddeus had not much changed from my days of freedom in its boundaries.

    “That, dear Father Gregory, may be incorporated in the catechism to be taught these lovely creatures,” observed the Father Superior. “But here comes the fair Julia with the roast!”

    Julia Delmont, ravished by her own sensual father, upon his demise had been taken into the holy order with her dear friend Bella, and you will recall that I had witnessed their initiation which made numerably sure they were not virgins in any of their orifices. By this time, I conjectured, both damsels must be broadly stretched in all three, and as a result of that diminishing of frictional pleasure, their devout virile guardians must by now be longing for new channels in which to course their unbridled cocks.

    “How lovely,” Father Lawrence observed, “these fascinating young creatures are surely two of the original Three Graces!”

    “Somewhat the worn for wear, Father Lawrence,” the Superior blandly riposted, “but they are estimably docile and good will compensates for many annoyances in this life.”

    “Amen to that!” chorused the priests.

    “But now, after we have supped, I will have Father Ambrose convey your wards to their new quarters, which are little cells in a passageway set off from our own bachelor and continent abodes by an iron gate to which alone I have the key,” the Superior explained.

    “Prends gare,” Father Lawrence murmured to his wards, “cet homme est le plus vilain et lechereux de tous! (Beware, that man is the ugliest and most lecherous of all).

    “What say you to your wards?” Father Clement's manly voice rang out.

    “That of all the holy fathers here most qualified to lead the young, these damsels could not hope for a more righteous guide,” my erstwhile jailer declared amid applause, for Father Ambrose, as you who have read my first book of memoirs most surely know, was in many ways the procurer of the holy order, since it was through his machinations that fair Bella and Julia had been brought to minister unto the furious excitations of these virile men of the flesh under the austere cassock.

    And so the first evening passed, and it was plain from the Superior's tone that Father Lawrence, in bringing such tasty morsels of femininity with him, had risen at a bound to a high place in the society of these goodly men who appreciated the temporal pleasures when coupled to righteousness.


    It was late in the evening when the gathering broke up to go their individual ways, and the Father Superior had announced that it would not be till the following Monday when the three young novices should be examined as to their dispositions and education.

    “This, Father Lawrence, will give you ample time to converse with them and try to inculcate in their quick minds sufficient English vocabulary to understand that when they stand before us, they must needs be docile and obedient above all else, since we are their teachers and confessors equally.”

    “They will learn quickly, I promise you. But what think you of the project I spoke of to you over the cheese and ale and biscuits, my eminent Superior?”

    “That of aiding the sweet sisters to find their long-lost brother Jean? It may be done, and there is gold enough to provide for the cause if they are worthy and sincere novices. I could send a courier to Barcelona, where it is said shrewd seafaring captains who do commerce with the mighty Bey could bring to him the message of petition.”

    “You surely do not store your gold in the seminary, Superior?”

    “What better place than in one of the cells we reserve for novices and which is only used for extreme confessional?” the Father Superior retorted. “It is under the kneeling hassock in the corner. Removing it, one has but to lift a panel in the floor, a kind of trapdoor, and there is a bag of gold and silver coins.”

    “A most ingenious hiding place, Father Superior. And now, am I to have my quarters with the other priests?”

    “Not for this first night. Indeed,” this with an indulgent chuckle, “since in a sense you brought us the treasure of three virginities, my estimable colleague, I shall let you guard this earthly treasure. Your presence in that cell will make the hoard all the safer.”

    “I thank you for your trust and confidence. Let me but bless my wards, and then consign them to the tender mercies of Father Ambrose,” my former jailer responded. He spoke rapidly in French, the gist of which was that all three were to remember their vows, and wait till he again communicated with them.

    Sweet Marisia, who wore the locket in which I nestled, was approached by the hoarse, wheedling voice of Father Ambrose, who now craftily urged her to allow him, that he might convey her to her quarters where, if she so wished, he would kneel down with her and say a prayer for her sweet dreams. I could picture his gleaming black eyes, his thick lips, his flushed brow, and almost the throbbing of his massive weapon hidden beneath the cassock!

    Denise and Louisette followed, after all three had bade Father Lawrence a fond good night and pleasant dreams. When they left, there were universal sighs of admiration from the rest of the company and I heard a few epithets which indicated that the maidens had already roused the highest carnal longing amid the assemblage.

    Father Lawrence was shown to that novice's cell by none other than the Father Superior himself, so I did not hear their parting conversation. But I heard Father Ambrose, as he escorted the three girls down the narrow corridor, continue to accost them with flowery words and sly intimations as to his ability, should they find sleep impossible in a new bed, to provide the most excellent of soporifics.

    “Ah, now the sisters go in here – come, my children – ah, what lovely limbs, what glorious tresses,” he cajoled. The two of you – here… good. You see, my dears, we shall get along famously, despite your knowing no English. So long as you both do French, I feel my innermost ardors rising for your presence, and you will soon do me honor, as I mean to do you – was ever such fair skin, such liquid, ardent eyes!”

    Denise and Louisette, apparently, were paired together in one of the cells. Now he was alone with my sweet young jailer, Marisia. “Come, dear child,” he purred, his voice thick with longing, “you are to go in here, next to your dear friends. I will keep you company for a moment, lest the dark frighten you. Oh, what glossy black tresses, what creamy white skin, what a saucy visage! Here we are, my daughter, is this not comfortable? There is your cot, with an extra woolen blanket to keep you warm. Though I know a better way when the weather is frosty. What tasty white skin, I am dying to caress it! Do not shrink from me, my daughter – I will love you, not harm you. Our order teaches love, undying and eternal, and I profess to you that even in this petty life there are innumerable ways of loving. Do you see what I have for you as a keepsake, my child? Observe – have you ever seen so mighty a cock? Behold how the head sets off from the shaft with a vitality all its own, the taking of which in itself is a commendable feat for any virgin!”

    Marisia quavered, “O – I have taken a vow, my F-Father.”

    “What is this? The minx speaks English?” Father Ambrose gasped, half to himself.

    “Oui, a leetle,” Marisia quavered. No wonder, facing that bull of a priest, whose shaggy black cockmane would be enough to startle a pure virgin out of her wits, to say nothing of what protruded beyond it.

    “Then you know what I proffer you, my daughter,” Father Ambrose pursued. “I, of all your confessors here, am most skilled in extracting a maiden's shyness. Without boasting, I will tell you that many a timid virgin has shed her blood willingly to accept the keepsake of my manhood, which womanizes her within an instant, and brings her to a state of grace. Come, let me remove your gown, my daughter!”

    “Non, non, I have taken a vow, je vous dis!” Marisia insisted.

    “A vow? What vow is this, before you are even a novice?” he cried irately.

    I felt myself moved – Laurette had drawn the locket out of her bosom and was holding it up to the fat fearsome priest. “I have taken a vow by this token of Saint Laurette,” she cried.

    “Saint Laurette? But that is a French saint of whom I have never heard. She does not pertain here now, my daughter. Come, I burn for you – do you not see how my prick trembles with longing? The viscous drops of white spunk which dribble from these lips speak eloquently of my passion! Ah, what sweet titties the minx has, and what a red little mouth – truly is it said she speaks French well – and she shall speak it to my prick all the night long if she is of such a mind!”

    “Non, non, ne me touchez pas! I have taken a vow, I cannot give myself without my vow, Father!” Sweet Marisia cried again in the most passable English.

    “Take care lest you raise my wrath more than you already do my prick, my daughter!” he thundered. “Give me this locket – is this your holy relic of Saint Laurette? Let us see what miraculous symbol it contains!”

    Again I felt myself wildly jostled about – and then, oh blessed moment, the catch of the locket was released by his fat fingers, and sprang open – and I, I was free again! Oh bliss untold, oh rapturous liberty!

    There he stood, his prick monstrously stiff and throbbing, and, as he had himself detailed, white drops of spunk oozing from the puckering lips, and Marisia, her mouth agape at such a sight of cocksureness, shrinking back against the wall of her cell, eyes wide with horror and appeal, her sweet titties rising and falling violently.

    “Why, what is this?” he roared, dashing the locket to the floor. “No relic this, but blasphemy of the most heinous kind! I espied a sheaf of silken dark blonde hairs, my child, and in my manly wisdom I recognized those as from the cunt of some fair damsel – a saint. Or if such, then far too young and not yet enshrined in our order! You wish to trick me, do you? Oh, ingenious, sly minx, I will make you groan for your sins, and beg to take a blessing from me between your sweet white thighs! Come, no more of this deception, will you or will you not strip bare, that I may catechize you on our knowledge of cunthairs and all the rest and all the methods by which they are blessed by the emblem of my might and authority!”

    With this, chuckling hoarsely, licking his lips, Father Ambrose advanced on the terrified Marisia, who veritably believed her last hour of virginity had come. But as he seized her about the waist, I darted down from my perch on a corner of the cell window, and bit him right on the obscenely monstrous plumhead of his bobbing cock, with all my might, drawing the blood I needed for my nourishment after so long a fast!

    With a bellow of a wounded ox, he stumbled back, clapped his hands to his wounded organ, and, in his blind agony, did not see the little kneeling bench behind him. He tripped and fell full length, striking his head on the stone flagging of the cell, and lay unconscious. I darted down, reposing on his left breast a moment, enough to ascertain the breath of life was still much within his hairy chest. Then, in my own righteous dispensation of justice, I bit him a second time on one of his hairy fat spunk-laden balls, to teach him to break maidenheads and force their modest owners to break vows in their turn.

    I waited to see what Marisia would do. Recovering, she stooped over her assailant and felt of his heart, then gave a gasp of relief. Then she sped out of her cell into the next, where Denise and Louisette, greatly alarmed by the clamor, were standing with their arms round each other.

    Quickly Marisia told them what had taken place. “I am terribly afraid,” she avowed, “that when he comes to, he will wish to thrash me for my deception. The ruse Father Lawrence taught me so industriously has gone for naught, and I fear that ugly fat priest and all the others will seek to ravish us.”

    “Oh, that cannot be,” Denise huskily exclaimed, “for I will give myself to no one else by our beloved Pere Lawrence!”

    “Then there is but one hope – we must somehow wait till the dead of night and all are asleep, and go to find him and beg him to take us far from this seminary where a maiden's vow counts as nothing,” Marisia declared.

    And so it was decided. Huddling in the cell occupied by the two sweet sisters, my lovely raven-haired young benefactress consoled Denise and Louisette with tender kisses and cooings, and I lingered just long enough to see soft hands disappear under rustling skirts as, to appease their frightfully strained nerves, the charming virgins began to frig one another. As for me, I went in search of Father Lawrence.


    Nourished vigorously as I was, my heart singing within my bosom at the notion of freedom, and congratulating my own flea-ish wisdom on having chosen to follow the fortunes of so alert and imaginative a minx as gentle Marisia, I flew down the corridor till I came upon the cell in which Father Lawrence was quartered. It was the isolated one, with an iron gate between it and the next building where the priests had their beds. It was the cell of extreme confessional, Father Superior had remarked. Well, so it was. Julia and Bella, on their first night at St. Thaddeus, had each been sequestered here for an hour of meditation before being joined and then delivered up to the assembled priests for an orgy of fucking.

    What was this? As I neared his cell, I heard a feminine voice – and recognized it as sweet Julia's: “Oh, my Father, you are new to this seminary, and you seem kindlier than the others, for you have brought three tender abandoned virgins with you across the stormy Channel. Can you not help me and my friend Bella?”

    “I will gladly give you what counsel I can, my dear daughter. But I am the newest acolyte of this righteous institution, and have no seniority.”

    “Oh, Father, if you only knew! Since we entered here as trusting novices, we have been daily set upon by all the priests. Not a single day or night goes by, Father, when we are not required to serve their basest whims. Even those times when the maiden's curse is upon us both, we must tend our mouth or- something else – to – to their cocks! Can you not save us?”

    “Where is this Bella now, my daughter?”

    “She is with Father Clement and the Superior, who expressed eagerness for her companionship to ease the inflammation they suffered at the sight of the three charming neophytes you brought here for their future education.”

    “And you, like she, find yourself orphaned?”

    “Yes, Father. But now I have too many fathers to serve, and it taxes me beyond my feeble girlish endurance.”

    “What would you have me do?”

    “If you could but help us escape from here and perhaps take us with you,. Father?”

    “You would have me break the rules of discipline and disobey an order from my superiors which sent me to this seminary?”

    “Yes, Father. Your wards will not be under your protection very long, that I can tell you. Father Clement, who bade me come to him at dawn just before morning prayers, laughed and said to the Father Superior he would be counting the pussyhairs of all three of your young wards before the week was out.”

    “Then all is lost,” Father Lawrence mused to himself. “I have been led here unknowingly to a den of iniquity, thinking to bring Denise and Louisette finally to their brother, and Marisia as my own charming protegee.” Then, aloud, to Julia, “If this is true, my little child, I must think of it soberly. I would not betray these dear children who depended on me for protection.”

    “They will not even let you fuck your wards, Father,” Julia avowed, “so you will have to content yourself with Bella and me, for our charms begin to pall upon your worthy confessors. As do theirs on us, if you will believe my sincerity.”

    “This is a deplorable contretemps,” said Father Lawrence, who had not forgotten his skill at French. “Well, I must get word to my wards, then.”

    “You must wait till after midnight. By then, all of them fall asleep from their carousals. Bella will be able to slip out of the room of the Father Superior, and I will bring her to you.”

    “I will help you both, my daughter.”

    “Oh, Father, I shall be so grateful!”

    “Tut, tut, my daughter, do not weep! It is not so bad as that – come, put your head on my breast, and I will pray that fortune will attend you and your friend Bella, with me as instrument of it. My daughter – you must not touch me there – my daughter – your hand is exquisitely soft and expert – oh, I fear they have taught you shameless precepts at St. Thaddeus!”

    Sweet Julia, whilst cuddling to him with her arm about his waist, had slyly lofted his cassock and, entering her slim fingers into his drawers, had brought out his violently swollen prick.

    “Oh, it is strong and firm and good, it is not ugly like Father Ambrose's, nor abhorrently monstrous like Father Clement's,” Julia breathed. Then she knelt down and kissed the taut red tip. “I would far rather serve you and be your humble handmaiden, Father, than to remain here as the concubine of all those other relentless priests.”

    “Your pledge of devotion delights me, my daughter. Yes, I will aid you and Bella. Ah, how sweetly you take my cock between your lips; whatever else they have taught you here, I divine you have aptitudes of your imaginative own, my daughter!” he panted as she began to suck him with the most languorous and attentive care.

    He bent to draw her up by her shoulders, drew her to him and kissed her rosy mouth ardently, as she put both white arms round his neck and pressed herself tightly to him. She was clad only in a long white shift and sandals, and in a trice her shift was slithering down her flanks and piling onto the floor at her dainty feet, and her creamy lithe body bared before him, the thick crisp curls of her cunthole making bold contrast with the white skin. Her titties were succulent globes, the nipples already pert and dark and hardened in tumescence, for, as he had just remarked and as I knew from past observance Julia Delmont was an exceptionally passionate nymph who savored the sweet act of fucking perhaps even more than her equally gifted companion the plump Bella.

    He drew off his cassock, and led her to his cot, gently easing her down on her back, then clambered over her as her arms reached up to grasp him and pull him down upon her titties. His left hand crept between their bodies, and as I flitted closer to the scene because there was only the faint light of a candle stub set into the wall, I could see that his forefinger had pressed into her pink cunt and was prodding her dainty clitoris.

    “Ohh – ohh – Father, how you thrill me – ohh, it is so good,” Julia moaned, and her naked lithe white limbs flung round his thighs to clench him to her.

    “It is only science, my daughter,” he muttered very hoarsely, as he began to fuck her with slow, regular thrusts, whilst keeping his finger dallying about her lovebutton.

    Julia's face was rapt with ecstasy, her eyes shone, and it was plain to behold that she found this experience exquisitely unusual and not at all the customary ravenous violation perpetrated on her by the seminary priests. Her mouth fused to his, her arms hugged him fiercely, and now I saw her body begin to weave as she coalesced her rhythm to his, till both expired with a long cry of bliss.

    When he at length withdrew and rose she lay sprawled, a hand cupping one of her still panting titties, smiling up at him with a delicious happiness. “Oh, ohh, what joy, what pleasure! It is as if I were reborn. And Bella, dear Bella, my faithful friend and sharer of the wretched and odious summons that drags us nightly from our beds to obey our masters – for such they are – oh, how happy she will be to know I have found a friend and guardian!”

    And so they waited there till the faint tolling of the bell in the sacristy announced midnight.

    “Come,” Julia whispered, donning her shift and giving his limpened prong a last tender squeeze, “I will go find Bella, and do you seek your wards.”

    “Go in peace, my daughter, and bring your friend back to this rendezvous. Then we shall determine our next move,” he told her. And he went down the corridor, after carefully opening the iron gate, to find his wards.

    Marisia, who was, as I saw – having flown ahead to seek them out – in the act of gamahuching Denise. Louisette who was standing watching and frigging herself with her soft finger, first espied her savior and hastily related all that had happened. He went into the adjoining cell to discover Father Ambrose still lying stretched out, eyes closed, snoring regularly.

    Quickly, he told them of his encounter with the fair Julia, and what she had told him of the dangers menacing all three of them. And so they hurried back to the cell of extreme confessional, and there was Bella in her shift, circles under her eyes telling all too eloquently her most recent occupation at the hands, nay, rather the cocks of Fathers Clement and Superior!

    “Do you, Bella,” he told the lovely plump handmaiden, “see if you can find two or three cassocks, for the night is cold and you and Julia will catch your death clad in only your shifts.”

    And while the charming damsel – for whom I could still feel a twinge of nostalgic kindliness, seeing that her plump white thighs and juicy backside and titties had often furnished me a most palatable repast – hurried off on her errand. Father Lawrence pushed aside the kneeling hassock, lifted the trapdoor panel, and drew out the heavy bag of coins.

    “With this, my daughters,” he told the four attentive beauties huddling round him, “we shall find and ransom Jean, and return Denise and Louisette and Jean all three to their home. Also, it will provide for the dowry of Julia and Bella, to find worthy husbands in whose arms they may one day forget the tedium and exacerbation of being so constantly and mercilessly fucked without consideration for their own sensitive whims. The rest will take me with Marisia to Barcelona, whence we shall set sail for Algiers to intervene with the all-powerful Bey. Will you accompany me, my daughters?”

    “Oh, yes, yes, Father!” chorused the charming quartet.

    So, when Bella hurriedly returned with two cassocks, she and Julia each donned one, and it was Bella who suggested the way out of the Seminary, taking a pathway back to the cells of the novices and thence through the deserted darkened scullery and out into the spacious garden in which the good fathers grew their turnips and radishes and leeks and cabbageheads.

    And I, free as the air again, soared overhead as this quintet stole out of the seminary, destined to new adventures which, they being certain to have wit and imagination which that accursed Seminary as assuredly did not, I meant to follow in search of my own destiny.


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