Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

His lips set down at the pulse hollow of her throat as he now began to fuck her with long deep thrusts. She let her head fall back, and her fingernails dug into his bare shoulders, excoriating him in her delirium.

“You are very tight, my daughter, yet there is a moistness there which tells me that you are longing for satisfaction,” he declared, without once interrupting the slow, deliberate rhythm of his coitional endeavor.

“Ohh, it is true, Your Reverence, it has been many a month since I enjoyed so magnificent a cock inside me – oh, it is so good when you push it in slowly so that I can feel every inch of it invading me and stretching me there, Your Reverence!” she gasped.

Now she began to press forward to meet his charge, with an undulating twist to her ripe, full hips that showed how furiously she was being drawn towards the zenith of carnal ecstasy. Her nails dug into his flesh almost to the blood, but in retaliation his fingers squeezed and pinched the shuddering cheeks of her succulent backside. Indeed, by tactual means he was able to communicate a kind of signal to her when he meant to thrust home his blade; when his thumbs and median fingers squeezed the edges of both plump nether hemispheres, this was a sign to her that he was delving home to her hairs, whilst when he eased the grip of her behind, that meant she should be ready to expect his withdrawal.

I heard the moist, suctioning sounds which his prong and her certainly well lubricated channel produced in this in-and-out maneuvering. The louder grew Desiree's own gasps and sobs and sighs: “Aaah! Oh, Your Reverence, no one has ever fucked me so well – I entreat you not to stop, it is too heavenly – Ooohh, harder, push it in to me till you tear me apart, I am strong and can endure such penance! Eeeeaaaiiiiih!! I cannot hold on much longer, Your Reverence, please make me spend – now – now! Oh, now!!!”

At this final ejaculation, raucous and sobbing, she crushed herself against him so her magnificent naked breasts flattened against his heaving chest. Her teeth nipped at her satiny shoulder, as his hands forced open her buttocks and he delved a forefinger's tip into the tight, pink, twitching rosette of her bottomhole. At that very instant, he forced himself forward till his balls clashed against her thick dark chestnut pubis, and with a cry of delight, announced his own fulfillment: “Yes, now, my daughter, take it all!”

I saw her Amazonian body quake and shudder as the tempestuous burst of his essence must have lashed the volutes of her womb. Their cries coalesced, just as had their flesh, and thus the most ardent widow in Languecuisse welcomed the virile English ecclesiastic. I doubted not that this other widow, Madame Hortense Bernard, needs must be almost superhumanly endowed to be able to equal, much less surpass, the passionate fervor of this chestnut haired, bold, flaunting Amazon.

After it was over, Father Lawrence mopped his private parts and hers with a cambric handkerchief, which he put to his nostrils and inhaled, closing his eyes with rapture at the memento. Desiree, swiftly donning skirt and blouse again, hastened to smooth down the worn cot, so that at least by dutiful gesture and thought of, hers she would sleep better that night. Then, drawing the bolt of the door, she turned to him, her face radiant, and whispered, “I shall knock three times, Your Reverence, after Pere Mourier has begun to snore. Once he does that, I know he will not wake until the dawn.”

“Oh?” Father Lawrence chuckled, “so then you have indulged his passions already, my daughter?”

“Oh no, Your Reverence! But I was told this by his last housekeeper, Dame Clorinda, who left his service some few months ago to wed a rich widower in the village of Mirabellieu. But I am certain Your Reverence – and again I beg you to forgive me if my boldness offends you – that even if he does summon me to his bed, he cannot possibly be so competent as you in making me forget my widowhood. I bid you au revoir, Your Reverence.”

The amazonian widow evidently had correctly divined the habits of her new employer, for Pere Mourier did not return to the rectory until a good half-hour after the scene which I have just described. He was in fine spirits, and asked Desiree to bring him a little glass of cognac to his bedchamber and invited her to join him with a petite verre for herself.

When she had arrived, he took his glass from the little tray which she had brought, took an appreciative sip, rolling the fiery liquid back and forth in his mouth before swallowing. Then he smacked his belly with a fat hand and buoyantly declared “Morbleu, that little minx is not nearly so innocent as she pretends.”

“Why do you say that, Your Reverence?” the chestnut haired housekeeper queried.

“Well, she was most meek and deferential, Madame Desiree,” the fat priest answered after taking another sip of his cognac. “She promised very dutifully to accept the good Monsieur Villiers as her lawful consort and gave me her word that she would not attempt to communicate with that wretched apprentice of his. The return to her parents' cottage took much longer than I had anticipated, because apparently the poor child had suffered somewhat from the scourging I had given her and hence could not walk too quickly. Indeed, we made several stops along the way to give her respite. I solicitously inquired whether her backside was paining her, and she tried most bravely to conceal it from me. Finally, I resorted to seeing for myself and had her truss up her clothes whilst I let down her drawers just to have a look. She was not too badly marked, so I massaged her flesh for her, and that seemed to give her some comfort. But in spite of her blushes and protests that she was dying of shame, the little baggage wriggled her backside about in a way that showed she did not find my caresses too displeasing. Ah, it is fortuitous that she will be soon married and not a prey any longer for the corrupt and callow young rascals in the community, for she is too hot blooded for her own good. Her husband will know how to assuage her yearnings, I have no doubt.”

“That bony old deathshead?” the robust beauty laughingly broke in. “If you want my opinion, Your Reverence, he will not have the strength to make so much as a dent in Laurette's maidenhead.”

“Fie upon such impious opinions, with all due respect to yourself, dear Madame Desiree,” Pere Mourier chided her. “With so lovely a virgin to warm his bed, the patron will surely be roused to good appetite between the sheets with that succulent white flesh of hers. Why, I am certain that even a stone statue would come to life if it were placed beside that young hoyden!”

“But a man like Your Reverence should know that many men find timid young virgins abhorrent, because they are all tears and false modesty and do not know how to love.”

“I will concede that,” said the obese holy man, “but essentially marriage is a sacrament not meant solely for the furthering of concupiscence. The joining of the flesh is only incidental to a union of this kind. The good patron wishes to have a bride to cheer his lonely house and to comfort him with her presence, as well as to give him an heir who will one day inherit all his wealth. That will be Laurette's duty, nothing more. As it will be mine to instruct her in her obligations, once she is properly wedded.”

“I have no doubt that Your Reverence is a great authority on the matter,” Desiree vouchsafed with a sly glow in her dark eyes. “May I bring you another glass of cognac?”

“Not now, my beauty. Your charms are intoxication enough for me at this moment,” Pere Mourier chuckled. “Did you put our visitor from England to his room and see that he had all the comforts he needed for the night?”