Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

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!