Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

“V'entre-Saint-Gris!” he swore malevolently, still rubbing his throbbing testicle, “I am out of patience with your silly tears and chaste airs, my pigeon! Do you wish me to summon my overseer Hercule and apply the switch to your impertinent backside and then hold you down while I take my rights?”

“Oh, no, no, sir, do not treat me so cruelly! I am all alone in the world and so ashamed! Oh, be kind, M'sieu Villiers,” she whimpered.

“I have but to reach my hand to the bellrope beside the bed,” he warned, gesturing to it with his free hand, “and I will do so this moment unless you submit yourself docilely.” He made a gesture towards it, and Laurette uttered a woebegone cry: “Oh, stop! I – I will submit!”

“That's better,” he growled, his chest heaving with the effect of this heated struggle for the jewel of that soft, golden thatched jewel which hid between Laurette's milky, rounded thighs. “Then pillow your head on your soft arms, my pigeon, spread your thighs lovingly, and prepare to receive me!”

Closing her eyes and turning her face to one side, poor little Laurette reluctantly obeyed. Licking his lips again, the vile old lecher crawled upon her trembling milky-skinned nakedness; ugh, it was like seeing some bloodsucking leech profane a lily! His bony fingers set to work pinching and prodding her shuddering bare bubbies, and his thin dry lips nuzzled the valley between those round proud young globes, whilst he rasped his dormant cock against the furry fronds of her maiden mount in an effort to restore himself to that happy if accidental vigor with which he had begun the seance.

His mouth now besieged the soft coral pap of one beautiful, shuddering teatie and sucked it, as if hoping that by this means he might draw nourishment enow to fortify his puerile virility. Great tears edged from under Laurette's eyelids at this desecration.

Now his bony fingers reached under Laurette's squirming backside and gouged the milky succulent young flesh as he hastened his obscene grinding of limpened cock against the silky pussy fur of his virginal bride in a frantic effort to become adequate for her defloration. The charming girl had turned her face to one side, and the cords of her soft round neck were taut and standing out against the milky-white skin as evidence of her pathetic aversion to her despoiler. Yet gradually once again, thanks to the warm sweet contact of Laurette's maiden mount against his atrophied organ, Monsieur Claude Villiers managed to attain a second erection, though not nearly so virulent as the first. And once again it was time for me to intervene on her behalf. As he raised himself up on his bony, shaking knees, his flushed face gazing down hungrily at the sight of her tumultuously swelling, naked teaties, I hopped to his scrotum and gave him a wicked little nip which caused him to utter a hoarse yell and to invoke the aid of Satan himself, as he stared abjectly down at his once-again diminished cock, utterly useless for the fray that he had intended.

“Ohh, f – finish it, s – sir, I pray you,” Laurette's voice came faintly, “before I die of very shame!”

“A thousand fiends upon this luckless night,” he swore. “Whether it is your bewitching white skin or its softness that destroys me, I cannot achieve my way and fuck you as you deserve, my lovely little pigeon! I would sell my soul to Lucifer could he but invigorate me to the shattering of your chaste virgin seal! Ah, but there is another way by which you may avow your fealty to me, your rightful lord and master! And by the eternal, you shall forthwith demonstrate it.”

With this, he flung himself down on his back beside her, and, cupping her trembling chin in his scrawny hand, hissed, “Do you kneel over me and put your sweet red lips to my prick and draw forth the essence I have saved up so long for you, which was better destined for your adorable little cunt but which some demonaical force has balked.”

I was almost inclined to bite him a third time at such an insult, for I am not and never have been leagued with the Lord of Evil, even though it may be related by some misguided scholars that a plague of fleas was sent to pester Job as one of his many trials.

“Oh – M'sieu, I – I do not quite understand what it is you would have me do,” the tender maiden stammered, but I saw the telltale suffusion of her blushes spread to her dainty little ears and soft pulsing throat.

“Morbleu, but you cannot be such an innocent,” he growled. Then, pointing to his dwindled weapon, he explicitly commanded: “You will take my cock between your lips and suck me till my juices are drawn out. There, do you at last comprehend me, my pigeon?”

“Ohh! How – how can you ask me to perform such a vile task?” Laurette gasped.

“Because, you maddening creature, you must satisfy me one way or another tonight, and since ill chance prevents my thrusting my cock into your cunny, your mouth must substitute. Obey me, or I swear I shall have Hercule flog you smartly!”

“Ohh, heavens!” Laurette sobbed, “I am helpless, sir, I cannot resist such brute force. V – very well, then, I – I will try to obey you, but it will make me faint, I am sure!”

“Nonsense, it did not make Desiree faint,” he panted, and crawled over her, turning himself so that his loins were directly over her scarlet, tear-stained face, while he in turn faced the quaking, clenching columns of her milky round thighs and the adorable, golden thatched nook which they sequestered. Lowering himself, he brushed the tip of her dainty nose with the wrinkled, drooping head of his cock, and gasped, “Quickly, open your lips and pay homage to your husband!”

Laurette sighed woefully as she resigned herself. I could not read her virgin mind, and yet I was sure that she was weighing the relatively less odious compliance of performing fellatio on him as against the umbrage of submitting to the shattering of her maiden seal by his senile cock. At least in this way, she would cherish her virginity for her true lover, Pierre Larrieu, and still be faithful to him even as a bride of this elderly and detestable vintner.

So, keeping her eyes tightly closed, she reluctantly opened her rosy lips and absorbed the dwarfed meatus of her senile husband, who at once uttered a cry of ecstasy: “Ahhh, that is heavenly, my little pigeon! Now suck it gently and slowly, and entwine your soft fingers over my thighs – yes, that's it – ohh, I am in a seventh heaven of bliss incarnate! And you will discover, my white-skinned beauty, that in due time I shall be able to fuck your cunny as it merits, once you and I are intimately acquainted with each other, as true spouse and consort should always be!”

Her beautiful shapely thighs were tightly clutched together to deny him the least access, but Monsieur Claude Villers did not have any generous impulses in his honor of lust, and so he did not even try to caress her cunny with his fingers, much less gamahuch her as reward for her sweet oral ministrations. I liked him less and less with each passing moment, and I confess that the two bites I had taken granted me very little blood and less nourishment, he being dried-up and inconsequential as regards provender for me just as he was in bringing fruition to the loins of this sweet virgin who lay naked in her hose upon his lordly bed.

His groans and squirmings attested, however, to his approach to climax; I did not know whether gentle Laurette was sufficiently endowed by her female intuition to be aware of this imminent gush of viscous spunk, but I considered its emission into so fair an orifice far more than the senile patron deserved.

So, just as his rolling eyes and heaving chest and flanks demonstrated the very imminence of his little moment, I hopped from the pillow to the middle of his shaft and inflicted my third and sharpest bite, which caused him to utter a frenzied cry, roll off the startled naked girl, and, clapping both hands to his throbbing cock, drench his own bony fingers with the defiling spunk instead of jetting it into Laurette's still virgin mouth.