Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

“Do you not recall how I toiled in the wine cask that day of harvest, my husband?”

“Assuredly I do! That was the day I knew I must wed you – but by my troth, you have stolen from me what is my right in bringing yourself unvirgined to my bed,” he growled.

“But let me finish, my lord husband,” petitioned Laurette, taking him by the shoulders and bestowing a gentle kiss of peace upon his lips. “You well know that I wished so much to win the prize that I trampled the good grapes with all my might and main. And it was the constant churning of my thighs that weakened the seal that was your rightful due and, alas, rent it asunder. It is only now that you have fucked me for the first time and made me truly yours that I dare pluck up my courage and overcome my natural shame to tell you of this woeful occurrence!”

And thus the imaginative golden haired bride of the old patron showed that she could be as artful as Marisia, and, indeed, as the two zealous holy men who had taken such pains to “edify” her.

A week had passed since the entry of Marisia into the patron's household, and there was serenity in the heart of the patron of Languecuisse. When, on a Wednesday afternoon, Pere Mourier and his confrere Father Lawrence came to visit the abode of Monsieur Claude Villiers to inquire after the spiritual welfare of both husband and wife, they were entranced to meet the raven haired niece at the door in answer to their knock. For Victorine was even then gone on an errand on which Cupid smiled: namely, to seek out Pierre Larrieu and inform him that young Madame Villiers proposed to meet him at midnight on that grassy knoll which had very nearly become the altar of their blessed reunion.

“But what a charming creature,” exclaimed fat Pere Mourier, glancing at his English colleague. “Tell me, my daughter, are you, as word has come to me, the ward now of the good Monsieur Villiers?”

“Oh, yes, Your Reverence. Have you come to see my uncle?”

“To be sure, my child, and your aunt too. Are they at home?”

“My uncle is out in the fields supervising the planting of new cuttings for next year's harvest, Your Reverence. But my aunt is napping in her chamber,” Marisia deferentially replied.

“What an intelligent, charming girl,” Father Lawrence beamed. “Will you take us to her, my daughter?”

“Willingly, Your Reverence. Come this way.” Marisia led the way to Laurette's bedchamber, glancing back to flash a saucy smile at both clergymen. And they admired the supple play of her little young limbs and backside against her thin frock.

Laurette, hearing voices, rose from her bed and welcomed her obese father confessor and his English friend with shy blushes and curtsys, for she had not forgotten the penance they had subjected her to. Yet, contrarily to what they might have feared, she bore them not the slightest rancor.

“Ah, my dear child, you look radiant,” Pere Mourier exclaimed.

“Thank you, mon pere. But that is because my dear husband and I have come to complete amity,” responded Laurette.

“What glorious news, my daughter! Am I to infer from that modest avowal that you have fulfilled your obligations to the worthy patron?”

“Completely, Pere Mourier.”

“Oh, yes,” innocently remarked the impertinent raven haired Marisia. “I myself saw them fucking and my uncle declared himself overjoyed with Tante Laurette's compliance.”

“Tut, tut, tut, my child,” gasped Pere Mourier, his florid face purpling at the sound of that vulgar word which summoned up the most erotic images in his mind and flesh, “such things are not to be spoken of so badly by a mere child. And you cannot have possibly witnessed the holy act of union between man and wife.”

“But she did mon pere,” Laurette murmured, “for it was at my husband's invitation that she attended our conjuncture.”

“My child,” Pere Mourier gasped, staring avidly at the impertinent minx, who tossed her head and accorded him her most coquettish smile. “I cannot believe you to be so mature! And did you then understand what was taking place?”

“Oh, yes, mon pere,” Marisia purred, making a charming moue with her soft red lips, “for I have watched the animals of the fields and barnyard making love, and, being fond of my dear uncle, wished to have him make my sweet Tante Laurette happy too!”

“How precocious, how inspired,” Pere Mourier hoarsely declared. “Tell me, Madame Villiers, is it true that your husband means to adopt this enchanting creature?”

“So I have heard him say, mon pere. And he will also bestow a gift of several thousand francs on your parish, that you may look upon my niece Marisia as one of your parishioners.”

“The worthy Lord – did I not tell you, Father Lawrence, that here in Languecuisse we could boast of a noble benefactor whose thoughts are always for my poor flock?”

“That you did indeed, my distinguished confrere,” said the English ecclesiast, “and I shall never cease saying my benedictions for being guided to this humble rustic countryside to behold what miracles are wrought by devotion and faith and love!”

“But to her education,” pursued the fat French priest. “Does he mean to see to this also?”

“As to that, mon pere,” Laurette swiftly invented, “I am sure he plans to beseech you to take Marisia under your wing and to give her education in the little school whose able mentor you are. Ah, she will be happy there, for I myself, as a child, did learn my alphabet and my geography in that same spot.”

“My daughter, all my fears for your future have been banished,” Pere Mourier beamed, stealing covert glances at the raven haired Marisia who stood demurely by, hands clasped and eyes meekly downcast. “Perhaps the child would wish to accompany me to my rectory, to observe the classroom in which she will acquire her wisdom under my humble direction.”

“Of course, mon pere,” Marisia, after glancing at Laurette and winking, agreed.

“Then put on your cape, my child, for it may be chilly going through the fields,” said the obese holy man. “Moreover, I wish to talk privately with your aunt.”

Marisia left the room, and Pere Mourier wrung his hands, a beatific smile on his fleshy lips. “Oh my daughter, who would have thought such joy could have come to this household in so short a span of time? Now that you have set my mind at rest by avowing your fealty to the patron who places us all in his noble debt, I shall not again chide you over your past pinings for that rascal Pierre Larrieu. Indeed, if you are discreet, my daughter, and bear M'sieu Villiers the heir he longs for, I shall not look to see if you chance upon this rogue – but take care I do not see it.”

“Does Your Reverence then tolerate my meeting Pierre and chastely wishing him all happiness?” Laurette slyly queried.

Pere Mourier shot a glance at Father Lawrence, then affably murmured, “Say that I shall not inveigh against it if I am not told of it, my daughter. I am indulgent too, you see. Yet this charming niece of yours, I feel, because of her precocity, needs guidance. If you will not balk at her being entrusted to my charge – oh, rest assured I shall not harm her – I will not balk either at your retaining some concern for your childhood friend.”

Laurette came to him and took his hand and kissed it in token of meek submission to his will. Shortly thereafter the fat priest took his leave, Father Lawrence accompanying him, with Marisia between them, clinging to an arm of each of her ecclesiastical escorts.

I followed, amused at the flirtatious little plot which the two damsels had contrived, viewing whimsically the labyrinthian threat of Laurette's endeavors. She meant to have Pierre in her arms I knew, and this without Monsieur Villiers' suspicion, now that he was enraptured over his young wife's complete and seemingly joyful surrender to such demands as his senile old cock could make upon her golden furred cunt. And having found her niece to be of furiously impassionate nature, Laurette perceived that the raven haired Marisia's trysts with Pere Mourier would provide the minx with ample opportunity to procure appeasement from the voracious carnal hungers that beset her fledgling loins, whilst at the same time, being the ward of the priest, Marisia would be able to afford idyllic moments for her own true swain, the youth Everard.