The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It is said that happy should be the bride the sun shines on, and in truth the Wednesday of Laurette's union with the patron of Languecuisse was a gloriously sunny, pleasantly warm day that drew all the villagers to Pere Mourier's church to witness the ceremony.

Laurette appeared down the aisle on the arm of her father, in his best suit. She, with her two golden braids falling to her waist, wore a humble cotton gown, with long skirt hiding her dainty ankles, widely flaring from her hips like a kind of hoop and thus disguising all the tempting young charms hidden under it. Her lovely blue eyes were red and swollen, for she had been weeping. She still mourned her lover Pierre Larrieu—I say her lover in spirit only, for you will recall that the unfortunate Pierre was thwarted at the most critical moment when he had hoped to pillage her maidenhead away from its lawfully intended possessor. Yes, she had been faithful to the ordainment which both Pere Mourier and Father Lawrence had imposed upon her: to hold no converse or meeting with the young rogue and to save herself chastely for Monsieur Claude Villiers.

I could hear her mother scolding her in whispers amid the bustle and the hum which prefaced the holy ceremony. Madame Boischamp was vexed that her daughter should put on so mournful and lugubrious a face on this the most glorious day of her entire young life. At one fell swoop, little Laurette was to be elevated to the estate of a great lady, the consort of the savior of the village itself; yet she wept. Was there ever a more unreasonable wench? It was only maternal pride, and to be sure, the greedy thoughts of how she and her husband would benefit from their own new status as relatives by marriage to Monsieur Villiers that had kept Madame Boischamp from taking a hickory switch to Laurette's tender virgin backside before the wedding.

The ceremony did not last long, and after the villagers had poured out into the churchyard, the beaming patron, in drab black suit which made him look more a scarecrow than ever, joyously proclaimed that there would be wine and freshly baked bread and cheese distributed as a gratuity to everyone in Languecuisse. His overseer Hercule would see to it. They were all to drink to his health and to wish him and his bride long life and many sons.

A cheer went up at the patron's generosity, but it drowned out many of the mocking and even scabrous jeers of the older women and the overworked and harassed elders, who wished Monsieur Villiers no joy whatsoever of his bride and who tauntingly predicted that he would leave her maidenhead intact for all his efforts this night of consummation.

Laurette Villiers, for such was her name now, took tearful leave of her good parents, and it must be said somewhat to their credit that even Madame Boischamp softened her matriarchal heart and sniffed as she bade her daughter be of good cheer and do her best to make the worthy patron a faithful and obedient wife. Then the elderly vintner helped his blushing bride up into the little carriage, and himself took hold of the reins and clacked the carriage whip so that the black mare might take them both safely back to his elegant house. Laurette looked back at the receding populace, straining her misty blue eyes for a last glimpse of the little cottage in which she had been born and which she was leaving for the very last time. Tonight she would sleep in a splendid bed, and there would even be servants to do her bidding. But her heart was heavy for she was undeniably thinking of what should precede the hour of conjugal repose. From time to time, along the route, the patron glanced covetously at his tender young bride, his eyes narrowing and glittering with an avid light. I perched upon his tophat, and I looked sympathetically down at the sweet, heartshaped, woefully saddened face of poor little Laurette. And all the compassion that is innate within the soul of a Flea was heavy within me.

At the door of Monsieur Villiers' elaborate mansion—for such it was with comparison with the humble cottages of his tenant farmers and vineyard workers—his housekeeper received them both. Her name was Victorine Dumady, and her face was downcast, too, out of spite and jealousy. She had been the patron's housekeeper for five years, and she had just reached her fortieth birthday. Seeing the charming young bride, she now knew that all her hope of ensnaring the patron had fled. I had heard gossip enough from the villagers on her account, this wily Victorine. Her face was homely, with the hint of a moustache on her upper lip, but her body was almost as voluptuously robust as that of Desiree. And she had used that body many a time to attempt to seduce the elderly patron into marriage. He had been, rumor had it, as impotent with her as with many damsels of tenderer age with whom he had essayed his best to prove that he was still a virile cocksmith.

He made the introduction of his new bride to Victorine with a certain sneering braggadocio, as much as to imply to her: “Do you not see what a toothsome young morsel I have brought to warm my bed? How can you dare expect me to content myself, discriminating roue that I am, with worn-out goods like you?”

But Laurette, with that seventh sense of intuition with which all females are apparently blessed, must have sensed the rancor in Victorine's heart; for she sweetly greeted the robust matron with a tender kiss upon the forehead and a promise that since her own knowledge of domesticity was so slight, she would never dare implore her will on Victorine as to the management of the kitchen or the household. Further, she asked if she might be shown to her room so that she might rest a little while, because the excitement of the ceremony and the parting from her parents had overwhelmed her.

Victorine's sour face at once brightened, and very tenderly she put an arm about Laurette's shoulder and gently offered to show her to her new chamber. Glancing back at her master, she added somewhat tartly, “You must allow Madame a little time to compose herself, sir, or you will have no joy with her tonight.”

The chamber to which Laurette was taken was exactly across the hall from that in which her virginity would be forfeit this very night. There was a little bed, a table with a mirror, a chest of drawers, and a spacious closet for the clothes which the patron had promised his new bride.

Laurette sighed as she inspected the elegant room with its shutters and its fine rug, such a far cry from the earthen floor of the humble little cottage where she had first seen the light of day. Then, her emotions assailing her, she put her hands to her face and began to weep silently. Victorine was touched. “Come now, Madame, it will not be so bad, I warrant you,” she soothed the charming virgin. “Now that my own hope of gaining that rank which you now hold is no more, I can be honest with you, my pretty child. His bark is worse than his bite, and his hopes are more valiant than his deeds when it comes to bedding a wench. I am more than twice your age, Madame, but he cannot even service me. You need have no fear, therefore. Oh, it is true that you will have to show your lovely person naked to him, but I wager that it will excite him so much that he will not even be able to break your hymen. Now do you lie down and calm yourself, and I shall presently bring you a little cordial.”

“You—you are very kind, Victorine,” Laurette faintly murmured.

“Not by nature, truly, Madame Villiers,” the robust matron candidly retorted, with a shrug of her ripe, round shoulders, “but I am a practical woman and, as you may well guess, I have had to put up with his foibles for numerous years. I know him as well as I know the back of my own hand. So do not fret, and tell yourself only that you must be brave for a little time when the bony old fool wishes to exact payment for having given you his name in holy matrimony.”

With this encouraging piece of advice, Victorine left the room, and Laurette flung herself down on the bed and sobbed aloud in her disconsolate state over being separated from Pierre Larrieu for what assuredly at this moment seemed forever.

I need not dwell upon the wedding supper which Victorine was obliged to serve, nor expatiate on the ludicrous and risible manner of the patron who fancied himself to be a very cavalier with the ladies and made all sorts of ribald and lewd quips on the approaching moment when he should be alone with his bride for the first time. Laurette, though a gentle virgin, was, as I have tried to imply already, a wise virgin also; she understood many of these bawdy references, though she pretended to be impervious to them. She toyed with her food, although it was the richest fare she had ever been privileged to sup upon, all in the hope of delaying that inexorable and inevitable hour. By contrast, however, she did help herself to three glasses of good Burgundy wine and two more of fine champagne which Victorine served. I do not know whether her mother had counseled her to seek solace in alcoholic spirits, just as a criminal condemned to the guillotine is often permitted absinthe to dull his terrors of execution. But I have no doubt that she imbibed these stimulants in the hope of making the forthcoming juncture between herself and the patron a less agonizing obligation.

Towards the end of the repast, I found it hard to check my own hilarity when I heard Monsieur Villiers ask several times, in his querulous voice, “Aren't you fatigued, my dear? Wouldn't you like to go to bed now?” In his role as patron of the village, having the droit de seigneur privilege over every damsel and matron in Languecuisse, it was not mandatory upon him to show the amorous gallantry of a courtier, for this after all was a simple peasant village in the heart of Provence. Nonetheless, a child could have seen through his bald hints, and Laurette did her level best to evade the issue. Victorine was a close ally in this regard, seeing to it that the new Madame Villiers had another little helping of mousse or another mint or another demitasse, while the unprepossessing visage of the patron grew steadily dark as a thundercloud as his patience waned and his impatience to be at naked oneness with his tasty young virgin bride increased.

But finally there was no help for it; Laurette had taken the last morsel of food and the last sip of champagne that she could stomach, and now, alas, she had to stomach the patron himself. She finally rose, her face blushing in her sweet bridal confusion, and the old fool shoved back his chair and scurried to her to take her arm with his bony fingers and to declare in his ready voice, “Lean on me, my little pigeon. I shall conduct you to the nuptial chamber myself. You will see how tenderly I will care for you, my darling Laurette. You do not know how I have waited for this moment!”

Had he let it go at that, the old fool might possibly have roused in Laurette some vague tolerance of her elderly benedict. But the habits of a lifetime are difficult to curb. And, sure enough, no sooner had they passed the threshold of the dining room, then he surreptitiously groped with thumb and forefinger and pinched her tender bottom through her skirt and petticoat and drawers. Laurette started, turned scarlet, and uttered a startled gasp of overwrought embarrassment. She gazed at her husband reproachfully, two big tears forming in those glorious soft blue eyes. The patron of Languecuisse cackled with ribald merriment: “Eh, eh, my beauty, you did not think I was so spry at my age, I trow. I will surprise you this night, my plump little pigeon. You will fall back on your pillow and beg for mercy, I promise you. I will make you forget that rascally Pierre Larrieu before the sun rises in the heavens, of that you may be certain. Come, my little beauty, come to bed!”

Laurette allowed herself to be conducted to the bridal chamber. With ill-concealed lubricity, the patron flung open the door and triumphantly pointed towards the canopied four-poster bed which rose so imposingly and menacingly before the tender eyes of this beautiful peasant virgin. “Is that bed not magnificent, my dear little Laurette?” he cackled. “There are two mattresses, and they are packed with eiderdown to cradle your lovely flesh. Come, give me a tender kiss before you disrobe, a kiss that will tell me you are mine at last, my exquisite little pigeon!”

Laurette dutifully put her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and gave him a peck on the cheek, which did not at all please him. “But that is no kiss at all, you teasing little vixen,” he snorted. “Do you not know that I am your proper husband now, with every right over you? You must obey my every wish, Laurette. That is the law, and Pere Mourier will tell you your duties if you do not know it already.” With this, he crushed his thin, dry lips upon her rosy mouth, and Laurette winced and shuddered, wishing that some miracle might whisk her away from this gaudy bedchamber and take her instead to a hayrick wherein she might lie naked in the embrace of sturdy, loving Pierre Larrieu.

But it was, alas, not to be.

Laurette, realizing that the frightful hour was here at last and that no one would break in to save her, not even her adored Pierre, blushingly petitioned her elderly husband to let her disrobe in privacy. But the patron was not to be put off so deviously. “Ah no, my little pigeon,” he slyly retorted, “I will not let you get out of my sight till I have had you and properly enjoyed your maiden treasure, which is my due because you are now my bride! I know your scheme, you sweet trickster, aye, I know it well. You would slip off to your room, promising to change into your nightshift, and then I should find you fled out to the fields with this rascally bastard who would usurp all my privileges!”

“Oh, no, no, Monsieur Villiers, how can you think such a thing of me? I am a good girl, a virgin, and I am dying of shame to think that now—I—I must take off my clothes and—and let you see me. At least, send Victorine in to me to help me prepare for bed.”

“There is no need for that, my beauty,” he greedily parried her last ruse. “As your husband, I will be your maid as well. And there is no need for shame now, my little pigeon, since we are man and wife. Come, quickly, take off your gown. I am longing to see your beautiful white skin, remembering how you looked in the cask when I let you win the contest!”

“Oh, M'sieu, then I do not belong here this night at your side,” Laurette ingeniously countered, employing every resource in her power to stop the odious consummation from taking place. “I did not think my cask was as full of grapes as the others had in theirs. It was unfair, and I should not have been chosen as the winner. You should rightly wed her who squeezed out the most liters.”

“Enough of this time wasting argument, my beauty,” Claude Villiers growled. “If you will not undress by yourself, I will rip your garments from you. I am within my rights; verily, I may even thrash you with a switch if you are not a properly obedient wife to me. It is the law, Laurette.”

Laurette raised her beautiful, tear wet eyes to the ceiling and then falteringly began to remove her gown, while the scrawny bridegroom watched, rubbing his bony hands with lubricious anticipation. Beneath the gown, she wore a camisole and petticoat and drawers, as well as white clockwork stockings made secure on her lower thighs with blue satin rosette-garters. Her dainty feet were shod in little shoes with brass buckles that gleamed. Claude Villiers licked his lips and his voice cracked with feverish anticipation as he next ordered, “And now the petticoat, my pretty one.”

“Oh, please, M'sieu Villiers, I—I have never undressed before in front of a man—will you not let me go into the next room and there put on my nightdress?” Laurette stammered.

“No, my darling pet! As to a nightdress, there is nothing served by it, because it would only have to come off anyway,” he cackled. Then, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Do not waste any more time by arguing with me, girl! The petticoat!”

Laurette's dainty little fingers fumbled with the string that held the petticoat snugly about her slim waist and at last managed to loosen the knot; the garment fluttered down to aureole her ankles, and she stepped out of it an entrancing vision in her camisole, drawers and the snugly sheathing white clockwork stockings.

“Now the camisole,” he directed, licking his dry, thin lips again, his beady little eyes bright with the unholy glow of inordinate lust.

“Oh, s—sir,” Laurette quavered, “won't you at least put out the candles? I shall faint away of shame if I must strip all n—naked before you. I am innocent and—and afraid.”

“Which is precisely what makes you so deliciously tempting, you darling little pigeon,” Claude Villiers cackled. “Take comfort in my impatient desire for your charms, my beauty, for I would not be half so excited if I had been told that you had lain with any other man save myself.”

This statement somewhat eased Laurette's fears, for she had dreaded the possibility of Pere Mourier's informing the elderly patron of what had almost transpired between herself and Pierre Larrieu on that grassy knoll the evening after the grape-trampling contest. It gave her courage once again to formulate a chaste entreaty: “Oh, sir, it is just because I have no knowledge whatsoever of a man's desire that I beg you humbly to take pity on my tender modesty and not to force me to that which my good parents have brought me up to regard as sinful and immodest.”

“Your estimable parents have taught you well, my little pigeon. It is right that a virgin keep herself chaste for her wedding night. But look you, this hour has arrived and I, by right of the ceremony this afternoon which made us one, have the sole privilege of exposing all your luscious charms and enjoying them to the fullest. Therefore you, being my wife, must obey my smallest whims, and I now enjoin you to take off the camisole at once, without more delay!”

Laurette bit her lips and flushed hotly as the patron's eyes fixed her with a greedily lustful stare. Finally, she yielded to circumstance, and, shyly turning to one side, fumblingly took hold of the thin garment and drew it over head and shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She thereupon covered her milky bosom with both arms, and a tremulous, wistful sob escaped her as she thought of her absent lover Pierre Larrieu, to whom she would gladly have made every conceivable sacrifice of her lovely person.

Panting with excitement at the notion that his tender young bride wore only drawers and hose, the elderly patron himself began to divest himself of his clothing, and finally stood stark naked. His bony shanks, his shrunken chest—the emaciated paps of which were hidden by patches of whitesh hair—his bony arms and the almost obscene baldness of his skull, made Laurette's sweet eyes widen in revulsion. But most of all, the sight of his dwindled, shriveled cock and the hairy-gnarled, egg-shaped balls, informed her most glaringly of his impotence as compared with the rugged young virility of the blond youth who had nearly plucked her flower of chastity.

“Come put your milky arms around my neck, my charming pigeon,” he panted, “and kiss your husband as is mete and seemly on this night of our nuptials! Your maidenly confusion is understandable and does your chastity credit, but now that we are alone with none to intrude on or endanger your sweet secrets, prepare yourself to give up all these maidenly vapors and tell yourself it is a woman's sacred duty to pleasure her rightful husband!”

I pitied Laurette with all my heart as I watched her timidly approach the grotesquely naked, grinning old vintner. As her rounded, milky arms hesitantly wound themselves about his withered neck, I caught sight of the glorious firm rondures of her virgin bosom, the soft coral darts of her sweet nipples. To think that such charms must be sacrificed upon so unworthy an altar was odious indeed; Monsieur Claude Villiers was old enough to be, not Laurette's father, but her grandfather. It was, this intended mating, somewhat akin to incest. And even as her milky teaties shudderingly pressed against his shrunken chest, his dwindled cock seemed to pay not the least tribute to such voluptuous young beauty.

“How soft and sweet you are, my beautiful pigeon,” he panted as his hands tremblingly roved over her bare, smooth satiny white back and thence to the succulent hemisphere of her enticing virgin backside, which I had already seen naked under the scourge of Pere Mourier. “You can't know how I've longed to see and feel your nakedness, Laurette! When the good father told me that you were taken with a seizure the night of the contest, I grieved in my dire loneliness. I felt such a loss that I very nearly summoned that bold jade, the Widow Desiree, to console me. So would I have done had I not been told by your good father confessor that he had only just that day engaged her as his own housekeeper.”

I liked this old man less and less after that bragging speech of his, which was in the worst possible taste. I comprehended his motive, however; he was fearful for his own lack of cocksmanship, and now, confronted by so voluptuous a beauty, was desirous of impressing on her innocent mind the belief that he was a vaunted lover to whose bedchamber would come the most passionate wenches in Languecuisse. I vowed to myself to protect Laurette's tender maidenhead to the utmost, so far as it was within my tiny powers.

“S—sir,” Laurette quavered, “please I—let me go this first night. I… I promise I will try my best to be a faithful wife to you, but I am so lonely and despondent at being separated from my dear parents that I cannot find it in my heart to grant you that which you desire of me.”

Monsieur Claude Villiers sniggered at this poetic and poignant declaration. His bony fingers had by now taken hold of the poutingly rounded hemispheres of Laurette's resilient, virgin backside, and he was in no way desirous of relinquishing his fair prize. “Nay, nay, my sweet pigeon, I will be both father and mother to you tonight. And somewhat more, eh, eh, eh!” Then, his face flushed and hardening with angry desire, he commended, “Now I wish to see you without your drawers on, my beauty! All that you possess is now mine, to see, to feel, to caress as I desire! Be quick now!”

Tears ran down Laurette's milky cheeks as she recoiled, her arms once again hiding her panting naked bosom. “Oh, sir, I know I must obey you, but will you not have pity on my unhappiness and at least blow out the candles? I—I will kiss you as sweetly as I can, and sleep beside you, but give me a few days to accustom myself to your wants of me, I beg you humbly!”

Such a supplication, needless to say, only inflamed the old lecher all the more. He seized her by a wrist and pulled her towards the huge, ornate bed, gasping, “You shall do more than sleep, my girl! You belong to me, every part of you, and I mean to enjoy my possession! I mean to fuck you gloriously this night!”

Thereupon, he flung her down onto the bed, and grabbing at the hem of her thin drawers, whisked them off as one would skin a rabbit, flung the offending garment to the floor, and beautiful milky skinned, golden haired Laurette was naked save for her hose and shoes. These last he too removed and then stood looking down at her, eyes shining pinpoints of infamous licentiousness, while the tender maiden, bursting into tears, clapped one soft hand over her virgin cunt hole and with the other arm did her best to hide the panting round turrets of her maiden teaties. “Ohh, have mercy, M'sieu Villiers,” she whimpered.

He clambered into bed beside her, and the sweet virgin promptly rolled onto one side to evade him, turning her beautifully sculptured, satiny back and luscious velvety bottom cheeks to him. Panting with lust, the patron cuddled up to her spoon-fashion, his right hand gliding up her thigh and over to the golden furred mound of her maiden cunny, which she tried to protect by clamping her soft trembling little palm over that diadem of chastity. Excited by the satiny feel of her warm, quivering naked flesh, the elderly reprobate began to rub his dwindled cock against the plump hemispheres of Laurette's shivering bare bottom. I saw Laurette's eyes close and a grimace of disgust contort her heartshaped, sweet face.

“You are angering me, girl, with your obstinacy,” he warned. “Take care that I do not give you a sound thrashing to teach you your duties to your husband!”

“Oh, have pity, sir,” Laurette stammered, huddling herself with all her muscular exertion and frantically preventing his groping fingers from reaching the sacrosanct niche of her maiden cunt hole. “You—you must give me time to know what you wish of me—ohh, do not force me implore you, if you wish me to have the least affection for you!”

But the friction of her voluptuous, naked bottom against his emaciated weapon had wrought a veritable miracle; Monsieur Claude Villiers was now in a state of tolerable erection. His cock was not much longer than five inches, and the long, thin head seemed to droop slightly, yet I could see by the spasmodic jerkings of his gnarled balls that he was in a fair condition of erotic excitement.

As she showed no sign of turning towards him, but continued to huddle herself in almost a foetal pose, one arm pressed over her tumultuously swelling titties, the other little hand clamped tightly over the plump mound of her cunt, the patron cast compassion to the four winds and with an angry imprecation, seized her by the shoulders and forcibly turned her onto her back. Then, feverishly panting with exertion, he flung himself down over her, kneeing apart her palpitating thighs and rubbing the drooping head of his meatus against the furry, golden ringlets which now provided her sole defense against his intended rape. Laurette, with a cry of alarm, tried to push at him with her soft little hands, but she was at an obvious disadvantage because he had managed to fit himself into her saddle.

It was time for me to lend my aid to this beleaguered virgin. Watching my chance, I hopped from the counterpane—he had not even bothered to turn down the sheets in his inopportune fury for the conquest of her sweet maiden cunt hole—and nimbly leaped between their bodies just as poor Laurette managed to wriggle slightly out from under her elderly ravisher. I crawled onto his left testicle, and applied my proboscis. He uttered a shrill cry of pain, for I had bitten deeply, and rolled off the sobbing, naked maiden, rubbing his hurt; I, of course, foreseeing this, had already left him for a place of greater safety.

My intervention had come at an excellent moment; already his cock was flaccid and completely drooping between his shriveled, bony thighs. He glared at Laurette, who shrank back on the great bed, her blue eyes blinded by tears, as if it were entirely her fault that he was put temporarily hors de concours.

“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.

Defeated and undone, Monsieur Claude Villiers sulkily chose to find repose now, and lay beside the apprehensive maiden, who, however, had nothing more to fear from him this night. For presently his snores told her as they did me that she was still an untarnished bride. Yet her dulcet sighs and wrigglings for the rest of the night suggested that in her radiant dreams, Pierre Larrieu was accomplishing that which her own husband had not done.