The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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.

In the salon of the rectory, Pere Mourier, after sending Desiree out to market for provender for that night and the matutinal repast, took Marisia on his knee and playfully interrogated her: “My child, you seem most alert and intelligent at first impression, and I shall doubtless enroll you in my schoolroom in the highest possible form. But tell me now what you know of fucking, for this is a matter on which only the grownups, like your dear aunt and your illustrious uncle, are supposed to have knowledgeable opinions.”

“Oh, mon pere, I've never been fucked myself, was Marisia's disarming, candid reply, “but a dear friend back in the village where I was born explained to me what prick and cunt were. Since I was too young to let him truly fuck me, mon pere, I would frig him with my hands and my mouth. And he would do the same for my cunt, though once I let him rub just the head of his big prick over my spot.”

“It is incredible how aptly gifted this dear child is, do you not think so, Father Lawrence?” exclaimed the obese French clergyman.

“I am entirely of your opinion.”

“Mon pere, would you like me to show you what I did?” Marisia cooed.

“Yes, yes, by all means, my lovely child, so I may discover whether you did not unknowingly commit one of the unpardonable sins,” he panted.

At this, the impertinent young baggage removed her frock and then her camisole and finally her drawers, and stood ivory naked before the two breathless ecclesiasts. They could not speak, but the prompt rigidification of their cocks spoke eloquently for them.

“Ohh, mon Dieu, what a big prick!” Marisia exclaimed as her eyes fixed on the projection from the front of Pere Mourier's cassock. “May I gaze upon it and touch it, Your Reverence?”

“Willingly, my daughter,” he gasped hoarsely as he removed his cassock and then his drawers. “Now then, show me precisely how it was that you and this bold youth played at fucking.”

“It was like this to start, mon pere,” Marisia explained as she sank down on her knees and took hold of the fat priest's throbbing cock. Pressing a soft kiss on the heavy meatus, she wandered her slim fingers this way and that over his balls and scrotum.

“Ohhh, the sweet child! Ahh, what delicacy, what gentleness, Father Lawrence! She is incomparable, and yet, you see, she is naive and without sin. This is not truly fucking. Now, my daughter, let me see if I can grant you a little pleasure in return. Do you lie on the floor, exactly so. And now -” he crouched over the slim, ivory skinned baggage, and, after stroking her belly and thighs, put his lips to her darling cunny. “Ahh, what sweet fragrance, like a flower of the woods,” he rhapsodized. Then his pudgy forefinger began to tickle the lips of Marisia's cunny, while the agile young beauty, grasping his hairy fat thighs, drew his huge rod down towards her mouth.

The pressure of her lips almost at once destroyed his self-control, for with a hoarse shout of bliss, Pere Mourier ejaculated huge gouts of viscous spunk, which Laurette's raven haired niece managed, to the surprise of both incredulous men, to swallow without harm.

“Oh, I must try her,” panted Father Lawrence, already naked and in ferocious readiness, as he clambered down over the naked young brunette in exactly the same way his French confrere had done, and began to suck and tongue her dainty cunt. Marisia, giggling softly at the vagaries of such superlatively adequate males, adapted herself to her new cavalier and began to suck on his massive cock head with a drawing persistence that did not take him long to disgorge the molten lava in his vitals.

“Ahh, my enchanting child,” Pere Mourier murmured rapturously, “what absorbing studies we shall have. I shall coach you in all the sciences, and that of fucking also. Come, sit on my lap and tell me what you have learned of spelling and geography and history.”

I remained a witness to an hour more of fondling, kissing and caressing. But it was not Pere Mourier's intention, this first time, to subject the darling soft-lipped virgin cunny of Marisia to the brutal assault of his mighty cock. Yet I knew the time was not far off when he would breach her maiden defenses and exact that token of her ingenuousness.

That night, as the grandfather's clock in the hallway struck midnight, Laurette stole out of the patron's mansion to meet Pierre Larrieu. She and Marisia had lulled the old fool to sleep, the two of them robbing him of what little spunk he had managed to store up since that one act of fornication I have already related, by the dint of Laurette's fondling his cock whilst Marisia licked it. In return, the patron generously pledged Marisia that he would send to her village to bring back Everard to work as a stable boy with Hercule, his overseer.

It was a moonless night, and the darkness and silence made an ideal trysting place for that grassy knoll. And this time, there was no scolding Pere Mourier to disturb the young lovers. With what joy did Laurette remove her cape, standing only in filmy nightshift which she permitted, blushingly, her handsome blond swain to remove, while she attached his own garments with impatient fingers. Then, naked the both of them, he holding her tightly against his virile loins, kissing her face and lips with a thousand ardent kisses, while her little hand fondled his massive cock, they at last achieved the unison for which they had longed. Sinking down on the grass, thighs spread to welcome him, Laurette stared fondly up at his rigid, angry-looking cock and breathed, “Oh, my darling, tonight I shall truly become a woman for the first time. My husband has had no real joy of me, for I have saved myself for your dear cock, my beloved Pierre!”

He knelt down before her, his hands stroking her thighs and belly and breasts. His forefinger at last quested in the thatch of golden cunt curls, and began to tickle the soft pink lips of her slit till she writhed and gasped to him to attend her. But this Pierre Larrieu was everything old Monsieur Claude Villiers was not. Grasping her inner thighs with gentle fingertips, Pierre tantalizingly rubbed the tip of his rigid cock against the soft twitching lips of Laurette's slit till she was almost frenzied with her lascivious need of him. And only then, slowly, inch by slow inch, did he sink his mighty blade between those greedily clutching soft pink labia, till at last their hairs merged and her arms clutched him savagely and her mouth glued to his as, masterfully, he began to arch and sink upon her in the inexorable, wonderfully exciting rhythm of a prolonged fuck.

Thrice they thus paid their tributes to Venus and Priapus while I watched over their happy beatitudes, ready to bite Pierre on the leg to warn him should some rude interloper like Pere Mourier interrupt such passionate transports. But none did, and at last they parted with the sweetest of kisses and pledges to meet again, as I was sure they would.

Yet even I could not have predicted how soon that next meeting was to be, for when Victorine timidly knocked at the old patron's bedchamber the next morning to ask if he wished his breakfast brought in on a tray, she found him lying there cold and lifeless, a beatific smile on his dry thin lips. The seizure of which Marisia had spoken had taken place; yet at least he had died a happy death, drawn to climax by young bride and younger niece, believing to the very end that charming Laurette had overcome her aversion to him and come to love him for his own sake. And who is not to say that illusion can sometimes be stronger than reality?

Two days later, after the funeral, Pere Mourier attended the Widow Laurette Villiers, who was most becomingly attired in a simple black cotton dress, though she was now a wealthy and secure widow who need never again worry about a crust of bread or a roof over her head. For in his will, the patron had left everything to her, save a thousand francs for Victorine.

“How can I console you in your great bereavement, Madame Villiers?” the fat French clergyman unctuously queried.

“Is it true, mon pere, that I am actually the owner of this house and all the vineyards of Languecuisse?”

“It is true, my daughter.”

“And I am free to marry again, for you yourself have always told me it is better to marry than to burn.”

“That also is true, my daughter.”

“Then I wish you to announce the banns between myself and Pierre Larrieu—after a proper interval of mourning, to be sure.”

“Oh, my daughter, this is madness!”

“Why so? Is he not the same flesh as my adored, lamented husband? Am I not lonely and in need of a strong young husband, that I may produce the heirs M'sieu Villiers so had his heart set upon?”

“Yes, but -”

“And since I have fallen heir to all this unexpected wealth, mon pere, it is my wish to make free gift unto your parish of the little vineyard over which my dear father had tenancy. My parents will come to live with me in this big house. Oh yes, and the rental on their cottage shall also be turned over for your charities, mon pere.”

“My daughter, I cannot bless you enough. Very well, you shall have your way. Perhaps it was thus intended.” Pere Mourier kissed Laurette who then knelt to receive his blessing.

But once outside, Father Lawrence caught him by the wrist: “A word with you, my confrere. I must go back to the seminary in England in a few days. Would it not be wise to entrust to me the care of tender Marisia?”

“Why so?”

“Because the Widow Bernard, having grown used to a man about the house, longs to make confessional with you, Pere Mourier. And you will have Desiree into the bargain. I go back a lonely man, without having contrived to save a single soul in all my time in France.”

Pere Mourier frowned, considering: “There is merit in what you say, mon confrere. But I should grieve over the loss of that delicious, forward minx.”

“True, and I know with what vigilance you seek to guard the souls of the young. Yet take heart. In our seminary, we have many lovely young novices, even more adept and ardent than the charming Marisia. I have long felt that I should induce the Father Superior to send some of these well edified daughters to another country, where they may expand their education. And I will see to it that several of them are sent to the parish school of Languecuisse.”

“On that case, take her and with my blessing. Ah, Pere Mourier exhaled a nostalgic sigh, “how I shall miss the minx! Those soft lips, that nimble tongue, that eagerness to learn which characterizes her.”

“She will return to you even better edified, I promise,” smilingly retorted the English ecclesiast.

And thus it was decided. On the very next evening, Laurette said a tender au revoir to her raven haired young niece, who, when Father Lawrence had presented himself to ask to take her back to the seminary of St. Thaddeus as novice, had herself enthusiastically pleaded with her aunt to let this happen. And Laurette, perhaps wisely realizing that the presence of the precocious girl in a household where now strapping, handsome young Pierre Larrieu would be lord and master might be highly precarious to her own hopes for marital fidelity with her adored spouse, gave her leave.

Now that I knew the end of the story, I was drowsy. I had chosen my napping place in the golden tendrils of Laurette's sweet cunt curls. And that was why I was not aware of Laurette's telling her niece that she wished to give her a parting remembrance of their joys together. Taking a pair of dainty scissors, Laurette cut off some of those golden ringlets and encased them in a little locket with a golden chain, which she hung about the ivory neck of her niece. And so, when I woke, I found myself, oh horror, imprisoned in that locket!

And I heard the resonant, mellow voice of Father Lawrence close by, telling Marisia that they would arrive in London a few days hence, where she would be initiated as a novice, he being her sponsor. That was why she had forsaken her memories of Everard; competent though that distant youth might be—and I never had the chance to conjecture—Marisia had already decided that the mighty cock of her newfound protector could not easily be surpassed. And as she whisperingly confided to him, replying to his statement, “Oh, Your Reverence, I ask only one boon, that before I am made novice, you, all by yourself, will initiate me with your great, wonderful prick, and show me truly what fucking really is!”

What irony! I, the imaginative, sophisticated Flea who had vowed never to see Bella and Julia and those licentious men of the cloth, was now on my way back to their very lair, entrapped in the cunnycurls of the young virgin I had befriended. Was that to be my reward?

I told myself philosophically that all was not forever hopeless. A Flea can live a long time without nourishment. I was sure that tender Marisia would at some time or another open her locket to recall those happy hours with her golden haired young aunt. Then I might escape and try my fortunes in some other still more distant land.

Yet, what if she does not open the locket? What if, just as at this very moment when I hear the soft sloshing of tongue within mouth, and mouth greedily accepting tongue, and the hoarse whispers and the soft giggles of that novice-to-be Laurette? What then?