Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

“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.