Anonymous: The Lascivious Monk

At the time we are introducing Abbot Pineraide, this worthy man of the cloth is only twenty-five years old. He is in fullest bloom of his young manhood, and very good looking at that. Nature has gifted him with strong muscles and straight, well-tooled limbs and, since we are speaking of tools, this part of his anatomy was one of the good father's best and finest assets. In other words, he was well-hung, and his female penitents outnumbered the men by ten to one easily. The young priest was in perfect health and his penitents gladly helped him enjoy it. Today, he has just started his vicarage in the parish of Motte-sur-Vy, and he has yet to see his first penitent.

He is using the few hours that are left to him before the confessions start to walk around the little town. He wants to get to know it thoroughly. He may have to spend the rest of his life here-the best years of his manhood anyway-and he wants to make sure that these best years are not going to be wasted. He is especially interested in the women, and he is overjoyed to discover that most of them are very pretty, smile at him and are giving him that certain look which makes a man's blood run hot through his body.

They are all standing in front of their homes so that they can take a good look at the new shepherd of their immortal souls, in turn giving said shepherd a marvelous chance to take stock of the charms of his new flock. He walks slowly through the streets, his dark, flowing cassock hinting at a strong, masculine body. But the good father knows how to keep up appearances. He clutches his breviary in his hand, his lips mumbling as he pretends to read it. His dark eyes flash from left to right under bushy eyebrows and now and then he nods his head gracefully when the women murmur their greetings. The best looking women get a friendly smile while he nods his head in blessing…

Under his cassock he can feel his prick growing and stiffening. It quivers with hot desire and joy. Oh, yes, the beautiful cock of our young priest shall not want in this little town, and it keeps right on swelling with ardent desire. The men of Motte-sur-Vy seem to sense the threat that is looming beneath the cloth of the man of God. The glances they throw in his direction are not in the least friendly. The poor suckers feel that this virile looking priest with his large nose, flaring nostrils and sparkling eyes is going to be a threat to the sanctity of their homes. But how are they going to lock up their wives, daughters and fiancees? They know that this man is a veritable Don Juan who is going to cut down their opportunities in the available flock of chickens to the point where it might hurt. Is that a fair way to cut down their chances of sinning?

But what can they do? Nothing! The vicars of the eternal Father in Heaven can do whatever they want and go unpunished. The best thing a husband can do in such a case is to ignore his horns and leave the priest to his designs. And that is exactly what the men in Motte-sur-Vy did.

The young abbot would stop frequently to pet a young girl on the cheek. She would walk up to him, genuflect respectfully and blushingly wish the new priest a good day. He would smile benignly, get his fingers as far below their neckline as possible and watch the reaction. Since they always knelt down, it was always proper for him to reach. Moreover it afforded him a good look into their bodices and he began to catalogue the members of his female flock according to the firmness of their nipples, the amount of gooseflesh he could raise, and the colors of their blushing flesh. It was quite simple, really. All he had to do was to look deep into their eyes, probing their hearts and souls. His vibrant, masculine voice would whisper a loving blessing into their ears. The reactions of the women told him much about the conditions of their souls. When he had finished his breviary for that morning, the priest had a fairly good idea about the needs and wants of the innocent lambs of his flock.

Finally, the young priest's dreams were about to be fulfilled! Oh, dear God! How often, during the many sleepless nights in the dorm hadn't he dreamed about being the master over a whole tribe of pretty girls. To be the rooster of his very own flock of chickens, so to speak. Many were the nights he had been wide awake, thinking up the things he would do, once the Bishop had ordained him with the powers of spiritual care. Oh, God! The spirit was willing and the flesh was by no means weak!

Since he was eighteen, he had known that he was born to the cloth. When he tossed and turned in his bed, all he could think of was the woman. She was naked, lascivious, and danced temptingly before his mind's eyes. Her bobbing crotch, twitching belly, wiggling buttocks and bouncing breasts with stiff nipples used to drive him crazy. Horny with lust he would stare at her when she offered him her ripe breasts or showed him her delicious behind in all sorts of enticing positions. Sometimes he could actually feel her pubic hairs brush against his face, and he would smile back at her, whisper endearing words to the creature of his wild fantasies. He pleaded with her and begged this beautiful shadow of temptation to share his bed and teach him the pleasures of love.

“Oh, gorgeous woman, come to me,” he would whisper. “Divine creature of temptation, put your cooling flesh upon my hot body and show me the final achievement of happiness.”

But, the smiling shadow would retreat and disappear. He would bite his pillow and toss restlessly through the endless nights.

One night, when she had just disappeared again, and he was groaning and biting his pillow, a soft voice whispered in his ear, “What is the matter with you, my dear friend?”

He turned around from where the voice came and saw young brother Felix, the boy who slept on the bunk next to his. Felix was young, only seventeen, blond, slight and as of yet without a trace of a beard. Come to think of it, he almost looked like a girl…

At that particular moment Felix's breath was as warm and sweet as that of the woman, and Pineraide could feel it brush against his flushing face.

“What's the matter?” answered the young seminarian. “I am no longer in control of my own thoughts and feelings. I am thirsting for the kisses of a woman, my body is burning up and I…”

He stopped suddenly. “Give me your hand…”

Felix, obediently, offered him his small, feverish hand.

“And now,” Pineraide continued, putting the boy's hand against the proof of his manhood and virility, “I ask you to judge for yourself.”

“Oh, my dear God,” Felix squealed, half-frightened and half-surprised. “What on earth is that?”

“That? Well, take a good look at it and grab it firmly. That, my friend and brother, is my dick.”

“Your dick? But… but… that one is… enormous!”

“It's like everyone else's.”

“Oh, my God, no… no! Mine is much, much smaller.”

“I'm surprised to hear that. I thought every man had one of about the same length and thickness. I thought that every prick was the same.”

“Oh, dear me… no! You are mistaken. I have seen the ones of fat Julius, of tall Charles and of little Dennis. None of them have a cock as big as yours. Oh, Holy Mother of God, you must have the biggest dong in the whole seminary!”

“I feel tremendously flattered.”

“Aren't you happy to know that you have the biggest one?”

“Oh, yes… if I am that well equipped, I am sure that I will be able to please the women.”

Felix put his arm around his comrade's neck and asked with a husky voice, “Do you like women?”

“Oh, yes, yes… it's driving me mad!”