Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

In French, Marisia murmured to Father Lawrence, “What is all that he says?”

To which the English ecclesiastic replied, in as low a voice, “It is like the bait for the mouse which the waiting cat spreads out. Pay it little heed, but be wary of all such lengthy orations in the name of welcome.”

“What are you saying to the child, the one you call Marisia?” the Father Superior now interposed.

“Why, my eminent head of the order, only that she might cross all the seven seas and never again hear so fulsome a welcome which is benediction and graciousness made one.”

“You are fluent in several tongues, and I foresee you will be a valued adjunct to our humble tasks here at St. Thaddeus,” the Father Superior remarked with the most pleasant of tones. “Come now, you must meet the company.”

But hardly had all of us gone but a few steps towards the edifice which stood just beyond the gate than the Father Superior chuckled, “Ah, your vigorous ringing of our bell has startled some of the others. There is Father Clement, and also Father Ambrose.”

Turning to his wards, Father Lawrence murmured in French, “These are the dangerous ones, all three; be on your utmost vigilance when they approach you, my daughters.”

“Good evening, good eventide and be welcome to our seminary,” I heard the sonorous voice of Father Ambrose, the short, stout, somewhat corpulent priest who had been first to convert Bella somewhat in advance of her entry into this gentle abode of succor and sanctity to wayward girls, orphans and timid virgins.

Quickly Father Lawrence introduced his wards, and to Father Clement, the man of red hair and the bludgeoning prick who had possessed sweet Bella after the Father Superior and, as I recall, given that tender damsel such a test as to cause her to faint, even though she had previously been able to support the first two holy men within her sensitive lovechasm.

“What cherubims, what angels,” Father Ambrose sighed, “such sweet additions to our order! They are virgins?”

“I can attest to it, since I have protected them from bodily harm and mortal sin since my first days in that village of Provence and then most lately in Calais, and as was imperative upon me, made them bring me their confessions,” Father Lawrence declared.

“Oh, what bliss it will be to instruct them in the arts of their novitiatehood,” gasped the fat priest, whose wheezing breath told me that he was already savagely in a ruttish state at the mere thought of prying apart the tender rosy petals of those three maidenly cuntholes.

Father Clement, too, added his own admiring observations, so it was plain that Marisia, Denise and Louisette already had three hugely potent admirers and that if Father Lawrence should decide to quit his duties as their guardian, they would not at all be left friendless and without sponsors.

At the refectory, a chorused cry of acclaim rose from the already seated priests at the sight of the lovely trio. The Father Superior, taking his place at the head of the long wide festal board, called for silence and declared that St. Thaddeus was renowned for its hospitality to those of unhappy circumstances and since these three charming maidens had come to fling themselves at the door of the seminary to seek protection, he would impose a solemn oath on all his colleagues to gratify their most earnest wishes.

Father Lawrence was introduced with effusive praise by the Superior as the man who had crossed the stormy Channel to conduct these timid virgins safely to the fold of righteousness, and then all fell to most heartily, as the swallowings and chompings and gasps of good cheer rose in that merry room.

I gathered that the priests were served by handmaidens, as was the custom when I could observe with my own keen vision, because midway through the soup, Father Lawrence exclaimed, “If St. Thaddeus can boast of such lovely novices, then I am all the more grateful for my assignment to this holy order!”

“This, good colleague,” said the Superior in an engaging tone, “is our sweet Bella, who is unsurpassed in caring for each of us as if we were her actual progenitors. She knows us one and all and has taken our measure of devotion. Fifteen sweet summers have rested lightly on her plump white shoulders, but she has already shown the patience and generosity of a bride twice that age.”

Yet from the envious ardor in his voice, I guessed that, overly familiar with plump young Bella's luscious charms, he was already smacking his lips in anticipation of comparing the more nubile and surely purer beauties of Marisia, Denise and Louisette. “They are French,” he explained to the other priests.

“That explains why they do not speak but shyly gaze at us and wink their lovely eyes,” Father Clement proposed, amid a roar of laughter.

“The question, methinks, is not are they, but do they?” spoke up a lean, nearly bald priest in his mid-thirties, named Father Diomedes. And this salacious quip drew redoubled roars of Homeric laughter. Yes, it all came back to me; I could recall the voice, the quips of each.

No, St. Thaddeus had not much changed from my days of freedom in its boundaries.

“That, dear Father Gregory, may be incorporated in the catechism to be taught these lovely creatures,” observed the Father Superior. “But here comes the fair Julia with the roast!”

Julia Delmont, ravished by her own sensual father, upon his demise had been taken into the holy order with her dear friend Bella, and you will recall that I had witnessed their initiation which made numerably sure they were not virgins in any of their orifices. By this time, I conjectured, both damsels must be broadly stretched in all three, and as a result of that diminishing of frictional pleasure, their devout virile guardians must by now be longing for new channels in which to course their unbridled cocks.

“How lovely,” Father Lawrence observed, “these fascinating young creatures are surely two of the original Three Graces!”

“Somewhat the worn for wear, Father Lawrence,” the Superior blandly riposted, “but they are estimably docile and good will compensates for many annoyances in this life.”

“Amen to that!” chorused the priests.

“But now, after we have supped, I will have Father Ambrose convey your wards to their new quarters, which are little cells in a passageway set off from our own bachelor and continent abodes by an iron gate to which alone I have the key,” the Superior explained.

“Prends gare,” Father Lawrence murmured to his wards, “cet homme est le plus vilain et lechereux de tous! (Beware, that man is the ugliest and most lecherous of all).

“What say you to your wards?” Father Clement's manly voice rang out.

“That of all the holy fathers here most qualified to lead the young, these damsels could not hope for a more righteous guide,” my erstwhile jailer declared amid applause, for Father Ambrose, as you who have read my first book of memoirs most surely know, was in many ways the procurer of the holy order, since it was through his machinations that fair Bella and Julia had been brought to minister unto the furious excitations of these virile men of the flesh under the austere cassock.

And so the first evening passed, and it was plain from the Superior's tone that Father Lawrence, in bringing such tasty morsels of femininity with him, had risen at a bound to a high place in the society of these goodly men who appreciated the temporal pleasures when coupled to righteousness.

It was late in the evening when the gathering broke up to go their individual ways, and the Father Superior had announced that it would not be till the following Monday when the three young novices should be examined as to their dispositions and education.