Anonymous - The Lascivious Monk

Finally, his prick was released. It was a poor, martyred dong, squeezed flat like a little sausage. But… it was free! The cut of the knife had another effect, too. Gertrud sighed deeply, opened her eyes, and regained consciousness.

“Aaah!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “This bloodletting has saved me… I can finally breathe again!”

Though he was hilariously happy about the fortunate ending of his little adventure, the priest did not allow himself enough time to show his pleasure.

“Hurry,” he said to his housekeeper, while he began to dress himself, “put on your clothes, and open the door. Somebody rang the bell…”

It was not Monsignor Duretron who rang the doorbell.

It was Georgette. Georgette was a young, pleasant-looking brunette of barely eighteen who was very popular in town. As a matter of fact she was about to be crowned Queen of Virtue.

Gertrud was in a hurry, because she wanted to rinse out her ass. Moreover, she could barely walk. She quickly let Miss Georgette into the living room and asked her to wait for the priest to appear. She then stumbled up the stairs to her room and, with a deep sigh, stretched out upon her bed.

The priest was finishing his toilet, and he wondered what the girl might want from him. Gertrud had told him that a girl was waiting for him before she had crawled up the stairs toward her room. This time the priest was not excited at all. His fierce carnal lusts had been completely satisfied and he was totally incapable to perform the act of love in any manner whatsoever. Besides, his prick burned something awful. He had carefully examined it, and decided that it needed a few days' rest.

Nevertheless, the young priest was immensely satisfied with his one day's work.

Now he finally knew the woman, and his first struggles on the battlefield of love had shown him that many, untold pleasures were still awaiting him. He intended to possess every single woman in Motte-sur-Vy, except for the old ones, of course. Of those he had had more than his fill.

He put on his most peaceful face, crossed his arms over his chest, let his gaze become warm and mellow, and walked into the dining room to meet Miss Georgette. This time he was not going to give up his role as a good priest. Just before he entered the dining room he folded his hands, bowed his head. His steps were measured.

“You want to see me, my dear child,” he said with unctuous voice when he stood in front of Georgette.

“Yes, Monsignor, my grandmother advised me that you were the only one who could help me.”

“Please, go on… I am listening.”

And Father Pineraide sat down, his face severe and full of devoted attention.

“Monsignor,” Georgette said, “you probably don't know yet that I have been selected this year to become Queen of Virtue.”

“Is that so? No, my child, I did not know that. I am completely new here… But I do believe that I have already seen you.”

“Yes, Monsignor… I was lucky enough to be noticed by you… at the corner street, near the granary.”

“Ah, yes… now I remember. But didn't you wear your arm in a sling?”

“Yes, sir. But I took it off when Grandmother told me to visit you.”

“Are you injured?”

“Yes, I have a very bad finger. It hurts terribly, and I cannot do my work. You see, Monsignor, I am a laundress. And for three days now I have been unable to do anything.”

While she was telling of her plight, Georgette had taken her sore finger from under her apron.

The middle finger had been carefully wrapped in white linen. The girl unwrapped the sore finger and showed it to the priest.

“And,” the young girl continued, “the funny thing is that I don't even know what's wrong with me. That's why Grandmother, whom I support with my work, suggested to see you. 'Dear grandchild,' she said, 'if I were you, I would go and see the priest. He is a very learned man and he can probably tell you what's wrong with you.' That was a good suggestion, and-because you had such a nice and friendly face-I decided to come and see you at once.”

“You have done well, my child.”

“And especially since I have no desire to wear my arm in a sling when I am going to be crowned Queen of Virtue. Ooh! I would do anything for a cure… I don't care what it is I have to do for it!”

“You are very courageous. That is good. Now, please, allow me to examine your finger.”

The priest took the slender hand of the young girl. He looked at the delicate slim fingers of this tiny, white hand and wondered how it would feel if this hand tickled his balls. But he was determined to remain serious and touched Georgette's hand only with the tips of his fingers, examining the sore spot.

“And what is your name, my child?”

“Georgette, Monsignor…”

“A very pretty name. And how old are you?”

“I will be eighteen on St. Catherine's day.”

“And you want to become the Queen of Virtue?”

“Oh, yes, Monsignor!”

Pineraide sternly looked down upon the young girl, “And are you sure that you deserve this honor? Have you not betrayed the trust the others have placed in you?”

The young girl blushed, “Ooh, Monsignor!”

“You are aware that God knows everything. It would be a grave sin to mislead your neighbors.”

Georgette lowered her head. Her blush became deeper.

“You have never been touched?”

“Oh, no, Monsignor,” she whispered. “Never.”

“Good, good, I believe you. Anyway, if you have ever committed any sin whatsoever with a boy, you must immediately confess. Don't forget, dear child, God is goodness and forgiveness.”

“I know… but I assure you… I have really never…”

“Let's no longer talk about it.”

“Monsignor, what is it that makes my finger the way it is?”

“My dearest child, it is a very painful suffering. It's an inflammation of the nail.”

“Oh, dear God! An inflammation of the nail! And how long does it take before I am completely healthy again?”

“Two, three weeks… maybe a month… provided you follow the normal standard cure.”

“But then my finger will still be inflamed next week. And that's when I will be crowned Queen of Virtue!”

“That's right.”

“Ooh, how terrible!”

And poor Georgette was about to burst out in tears of sheer desperation. She looked really charming; her shoulders drooped slightly, her cheeks were blood red, and her little bosom heaved and quivered.

Father Pineraide looked at her, his eyelids half-closed… The child was so incredibly charming, so charming in fact that she gave him a brilliant idea. This idea would enable him to deflower this pretty maiden at leisure whenever and wherever he pleased. But, he would have to hurry, if his plans were to have effect.

He looked at the inflammation and saw that it was a mere matter of hours before the festering wound would disappear. Obviously he did not impart that knowledge to his young penitent. “Well,” he said, after a moment's hesitation, “perhaps there is a way to speed up the healing process.”

“Really? Oh, please, dear Monsignor… tell me, tell me… let me know, whatever it is…”

“It takes a certain amount of daring, I hardly dare tell you… even though it has been revealed to me by God Himself!”

“Oh, please, Monsignor, what is it?”

“I will tell you exactly how you can heal your finger in no time at all, but you must promise me that you will not be offended by my advice.”

“But, Monsignor, how could I possibly be so stupid as to be offended by a divine cure?”

“And furthermore, my child, don't forget that I am a Father who talks to his daughter and that all the words that come from the mouth of a priest are sanctioned by God!”