Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

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.