The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

She was loath to have him part from her, but he enjoined her to turn her head upon her pillow and seek the solace of sweet dreams – in which he intimated he would return – since he needs must go look to his young wards, who would be feeling quite deserted by now. So once again I was jiggled into almost indignant wakefulness by the redonning of his cassock, and then he tiptoed back to the room which, of the two, was to be his. He did not find anyone there, which I could almost have told him, for I guessed that Marisia had grown so absorbed in the completion of the tallying of pussyhairs between Denise and her sweet older sister Louisette that the time had sped almost without thinking of it.

So he betook himself to the other room, knocked lightly on the door and then opened it, whereupon a chorus of squeals and gasps greeted him. I did not need vision to conjure up the details of what he beheld: doubtless all three virgins cosseting together and sweetly entwined whilst comparing their hirsuteness. But such it was, as he discovered when, in answer to his query, “My daughters, you seem so industrious that I should withdraw and not disturb you,” sweet Marisia ventured: “Oh, mon Pere, Denise and Louisette have nearly completed their tallying, as you bade me tell them to do.”

“What admirable obedience, what dutifulness, what rectitude in the face of temptation,” he praised them. “And so I will wait here till the tally is done, so I may instruct you on how you are to make use of these magic figures once you become novices of St. Thad-deus.”

He then plumped himself down, jiggling me into instant readiness, uttered a languid sigh-indisputably the manifestation of the fiery appeasement he had experienced between Emily's satiny plump thighs – and patiently waited till the maidens should have ended their delicate labors. I could faintly make out such excited murmurs as “No, that counts as two, because they do seem to grow together from the same pore, Denise!” and “Nay, you are wrong, you must separate each and every one carefully and push to one side those you have already counted!” as well as a good many “Aii – oooh, stop tickling, or I shall never be able to count properly!”

But at length, after some fifteen minutes, as I should adjudge, Denise exclaimed, “Oh, mon Pere, I have completed the tally of Louisette's cheveux de con and I make them to be no fewer than two-hundred and ninety-four.”

“Then you are more hirsute than Marisia, my daughter. And what of your own count – is Louisette – AH, YES, I see the dear child is intently peering between your lovely round thighs and assiduously separating each silken strand, sprig by soft curly sprig!”

“I have told her she must not give way to impulse and kiss or lick me there, mon Pere, till the task is done,” Denise huskily proffered.

“A most commendable show of zeal and stringent discipline, without yielding to the vagaries of momentary fleshy temptation,” he responded benignly.

“Oww – you pulled one that time!” Denise suddenly indignantly made outcry, to which Louisette sulkily countered: “I did but separate one from the other, and if you would but sponge yourself there more often, my sister, the hairs would not cling together as if they were grafted on the same follicle!”

“Children, children, let us contain ourselves and remain amicable,” he chided. “Quickly, complete the task, Louisette!”

And so, after a few moments more, she did, announcing that over the sweet maiden cunthole of her sister Denise there were exactly two-hundred and ninety-nine hairs.

“Now that raises a most interesting theoretical question,” he propounded. “You are an hour older than Denise and seemingly more mature, from what you have told me of your practices with Guillaume and with your own mourned-for brother Jean, yet she has five hairs the more. Now are those extra silken strands the result of greater moisture and warmth in that garden, which would accelerate the growth of all verdure, or is the soft constituency of her skin more given to delicate pores from which spring these tendrils that seek to entwine over the maiden crevice and mysteriously conceal it from profane view? At any rate, the hour is late, and we must seek our rest for the finale of our journeying. Now, my dear Denise and Louisette, listen carefully. Each of you must memorize her own private tally. Then, when one of the burly holy men of the Seminary takes you aside and entreats you to yield to fucking, you must sweetly – but with your eyes downcast in an attitude of the most pious humility – respond that you have taken a vow to protect your chastity until he who is destined to possess it can guess within five sprigs of the total count of intimate foliage over your maiden orifice.”

“I understand, mon Pere,” Denise giggled, and Louisette forthwith expressed her total comprehension of this playful ruse. I wondered how efficacious it would be in putting off the bull-like vehemence of such a man as Father Clement!

“See that you do and thoroughly, or I cannot hold out for the duration of your sweet maidenhead, my daughter,” he admonished.

“But, mon Pere,” Denise went on, “since you now know the correct total, what is to prevent you from confronting me with it when I tell you in turn that I have taken such a vow?”

He uttered a hearty, jovial laugh which showed the very zest of his temperament. “To be frank with you, my child, nothing in the world save my own conscience and yours, and if these two are met upon a time when the imperious urge of candid nature wishes to strip away the smug differences of status between us, then you will know what your answer will be.”

“I know it now, mon Pere,” Denise huskily vouchsafed, “I would so much like to have you place your great becque into my little con and teach me truly of good fucking. I love to have Louisette baise mon con, mon Pere, mais je prefere infiniment le vrai baiser de con, qui est fait et accompli avec un bite enorme!”

Oh, the ingenious little virgin hussy, the little French minx, the hot-blooded ingenue and virga intacta, to be so adroit in outpunning Father Lawrence. What she had just said, dear reader, I translate literally as follows – and you will recall I have already pointed out the delightfully bawdy meaning of the French word “baiser,” which means to kiss as it does to fuck: “I love to have Louisette kiss my cunt, Father, but I infinitely prefer to have my cunt kissed (fucked), which is done best with an enormous prick!”

“There is no gainsaying the correctness of your declaration, my child,” he told her, “but so that you will sleep peacefully, I will myself baise ton con exquise, mais avec ma bouche. Le bite est reserve pour une occasion d'autre temps celebre!” (I myself will kiss your exquisite cunt, but with my mouth this time. For my prick is reserved for a more celebrated occasion!)

Once again he doffed his cassock, dropping it lightly onto a chair or some such piece of furniture near the bed, and clambered upon it. Marisia and Louisette acclaimed him with soft cooing sighs and murmured words, and I could overhear the sweet clear voice of the hour-older sister pronounce, “But surely there will be no one at the Seminary to which we are bound who is so huge down there, Marisia, and that is why I cannot rest till I feel his bite inside my little con.”

To which the raven-haired minx tartly responded, “But you know quite well that if he will fuck any one of us three, it will be myself the first, since he knew me before he was even aware that you so much as existed, Louisette, so wait your turn and do not harass him!”

Oh, what a harem this most indulgent of priests had acquired in so short a time, whereas mere members of the laity are fortunate indeed to cozen a haughty wench into marriage, and still fewer to retain a secret love-companion waiting for them in clandestine rendezvous when they tire of their brides. Three, mark you, three tempting, nubile temptresses, all technically untouched virgins – though hardly so pure as the driven snow, which is a simile the scribblers have coined to delineate sexual chastity. And all of them in rivalry for the honor of absorbing within her maiden channel the enormity, the breadth, the vigor and the gristle-cartilage-edifice of his virile prick – nay more, openly and within his hearing telling him how each languished for that honor! Was he not, dear reader, already better off by far than this despotic Bey of Algiers who had spirited away the brother of the two French sisters for the Bey needs must command his concubines to harlotry with him under pain of lash and bowstring if they do not readily submit; while here Father Lawrence had only to crook his finger (and bare his manly, always tirelessly willing cock) to have a very feast of fuckery!

Yet now from the soft slurpings of tongue and lips applied to cunt and then in turn soft girlish lips laid piously upon sturdy throbbing prick, I knew that Father Lawrence and Louisette, the hour-older sister, were at oneness in that pose known as soixante-neuf, and not much later I discerned, from the murmurs and sighs and exquisitely fluted love-cries that Marisia and Denise were emulating the English ecclesiastic and his partner thusly.

“Take care, my daughters,” Father Lawrence left off gamahuching Louisette long enough to caution, “in your sweet mouthings do not seize a single follicle of maidenhair and wrench it out by the roots, or you will render the tally erroneous, and so, should a worthy prelate hold you to that vow and insist either on your counting out your cunthairs for him or making by himself that momentous reckoning, he will not confound you as a lying jade and so visit upon you his wrath forthwith and declare your vow not binding on his demanding cock!”

“I have made Marisia push my hairs apart with her fingers to lay bare my little con just in anticipation of that danger, mon Pere,” was Denise's husky retort.

“What foresight, my daughter! Armed with such imaginative wisdom, I tell you it will not surprise me overmuch if you pass through your novitiate unfucked and thus retain your cherished virginity,” he replied. “But let us hasten to bring joy to our sweetly accommodating partners as to ourselves, that we may all get sleep enough to strengthen us for the remainder of our journey. Ah, Louisette, how daintily your cunt has a way to open its pretty pink mouth for my tongue, and how that little button at the top of those two inner labia which lead to the mystic canal of your affections boldly flaunts itself, erect and throbbing, as if boasting that it has a kinship with my own turgid weapon! So come, I will salute it – thus – and – thus – and again thus!”

“Ahh – ouuu – ohhh, je meurs – je meurs – ahh, ohh, baise mot vite – je viens, je viens, ouuooooahh!” Louisette cried in a hoarse, trembling voice that told me she was both dying and coming and that she was wishing to be fucked quickly, but of course he only half-assuaged her, tongue-fucking being, though delicious, not hardly the consummation of her innermost desires.

Yet it sufficed. And then Marisia and Denise made their own impassioned chorus of cunt-appeasement and each gave down her lovedew, and then sweet serenity reigned, and Father Lawrence tiptoed back to his room alone, leaving his three wards to sleep in the single bed and dream of what awaited them on the morrow.