Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

Lulled by his kindly guidance, and her senses already inflamed by the good work of her initiator, Pere Mourier, Laurette shyly took hold of the good father's massive cockhead. Tentatively, she rubbed it very lightly against the gaping pink lips of her love-slit, gasping and wincing at the faint twinges which recalled to her the taking of her chastity. Meanwhile, his left hand roved all over her bottom, and finally his forefinger slid down the sinuous, ambery cleft which separated those succulent hemispheres till he had found the dainty, crinkily fissure of her anus. He began to prod the lips very lightly, and Laurette moaned with sexual fever as this caress wakened all her innately libidinous tendencies. At last, with a gasp, she fitted the head of his cock between her soft cunny lips, and then frantically locked her arms about his shoulders and clung to him in trusting confidence that he would do the rest.

Slowly, Father Lawrence edged his blade along the pathway already hollowed out for him by his French colleague. Laurette caught her breath as she felt his turgid ramrod sink along the quivering volutes of her love-channel. Her right thigh rose to clamp over his leg as she arched herself to him. At the same moment, his fingertip prodded inside the clenching lips of her bumhole; thus impelled, Laurette glued her mouth to his, and, her naked bubbies flattening his surging chest, totally surrendered herself. With a single massive thrust, he dug inside of her to his balls, silencing her long-drawn moan of ecstasy with a furiously impassioned kiss.

Then he began to fuck the beautiful, golden haired maiden – or strictly speaking, young bride, for to be accurate, it should be said that she still retained two of her virginities – and Laurette feverishly responded. Pere Mourier looked on with jaundiced eye. He could perhaps content himself with the thought he had awakened all this exquisite response, but, alas, his confrere would profit therefrom. Still, he managed a smile of consolation at the notion that there would be other penances and other expiations whereby once again he could savoringly enjoy the golden haired, white-skinned loveliness of this naked beauty.

Now Father Lawrence slid his right forefinger down between their bodies and attacked her already turgid clitoris. Artfully he rubbed and rolled the little button, whilst his other forefinger foraged slowly and deeply inside her bottomhole. Synchronizing this dual manipulation with his own regular digs and withdrawals, he soon brought Laurette to moaning ecstasy, and at last, digging her fingernails into his sides, she threw back her head and cried out in wordless rapture as she felt his violent gush inundate her. And by the quaking of her own appeased, naked body against his, she flowed down her own secret tides to meet his own, and thus attained her first womanly climax.

If tender Laurette had procured a pardon for Pierre Larrieu and at the same time a remission of her failure to show herself to be a proper, dutiful wife by the simple expedient of surrendering her maidenhead to Pere Mourier (with Father Lawrence making doubly sure it could no longer exist), she also managed to learn a good deal about her own disposition. It was, quite simply, that the removal of her hymen had at one fell swoop whisked away all her virginal vapors – oddly enough, just as fat Pere Mourier had predicted – and enabled her to discover that she could give herself up with willing heart – and eager cunt – to carnal pleasuring.

I learned as much when the good Victorine attended her in her own chamber the very next day after this memorable hymeneal martyrdom to which she had been subjected. Laurette, before her mirror, clad in only camisole and drawers and one petticoat, had decided to undo her long thick plaits and comb out her beautiful golden tresses, to form a mantling cascade which would be more feminine and womanly. For, after all, she was now truly a woman, having in the short time it took Pere Mourier to pierce her maiden seal achieved that miraculous transition.

“May I aid Madame in combing out her hair?” Victorine deferentially offered.

“No, many thanks, dear Victorine,” the golden haired bride cheerfully replied. “But you would be doing me a great service if you would tell me truly whether you received last night a message from my sweetheart Pierre Larrieu.”

Victorine flushed and looked down rather guiltily. “But of a certainty, did I not come to the patron's bedchamber to deliver such a message?” she managed.

Laurette turned to her, with a sweet smile, and put her hand over the housekeeper's: “Yes, in truth you did, but could it not have been a false message? Be honest with me, Victorine, and I shall be your loyal friend and aide in this household. I will have my husband increase your wages and do all that which will please you. For to be equally honest with you, I love my Pierre and I shall never love the master whom you wished yourself to wed.”

Victorine hesitated, for to incur the wrath of the father confessor of the village was not a prospect she relished. But Laurette, again with that marvelous intuition which all females seem to be born with, read in the housekeeper's homely face the struggle between avarice and fear, and promptly poured oil upon the fire, so to speak: “Look you, Victorine, I will give you my word of honor not to betray you to Pere Mourier, whom f~ suspect of having arranged to send you to me with such a message, so that I would hurry to my lover and fall into the lewd clutches of that cunning churchman. And, more, I will leave the field open to you with my husband, for if I ever have the opportunity, I mean to leave him and run away with my true lover. I am not and never will be your rival, dear Victorine. What say you?”

“You – you – then you are not angry with me? I could not help it, he made me do it, Madame,” Victorine blubbered.

“Oh, no,” Laurette smiled. “I have done a good deal of thinking since last night, and in a way Pere Mourier has done me a better service than he guessed. For now that I am no longer a maiden, I am under my husband's protection. And if I have a rendezvous with my lover and am gotten with child by him, no one can dare say that it is not the patron's doing, for I shall faithfully and humbly perform my duties to M'sieu Villiers. So that is understood – and now will you be my ally?”

“Gladly, Madame,” Victorine sighed.

“Then take this little ring with a seed pearl as a present from me. It was given me by my husband, but he will not miss it, and by rights it should have gone to you anyway. In return, I wish you to get a message to Pierre from me – and this a true one, mind you! – that I am longing to see him when it can be arranged discreetly.”

“I swear I will do it for Madame, and I will not betray her to Pere Mourier.”

“Thank you, dear Victorine. And now, go prepare breakfast and I shall waken my husband. I must be attentive to him, so he will never suspect where my heart belongs.”

How truly the charming girl had matured in a single night! Perhaps all would yet be well with this tender damsel. Yet the presence of Pere Mourier and Father Lawrence, and their combined influence with her senile fool of a husband was not the best augur for the future. I told myself I would pay close attention to their machinations against her and aid her cause whenever I could do so.

But fate was to intervene in quite an unexpected way on behalf of the golden haired Laurette. For exactly two days after she had held secret counsel with good Dame Victorine, news came from the hamlet of Fonlebleu, a hundred miles to the south of Languecuisse, that the worthy Monsieur Gilles Henriot and his good dame Agnes had died suddenly of the flux leaving their little daughter Marisia, who was thirteen and a half summers in her youth, an orphan. Learning this news, Claude Villiers mourned deeply, for Agnes was his younger sister. He thereupon sent word by the horseman who had ridden to him with the gloomy tidings that Marisia was to be sent post haste here to him so that he might become her guardian and the sweet niece of his young bride Laurette, and so it was done.