The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was late in the evening when the gathering broke up to go their individual ways, and the Father Superior had announced that it would not be till the following Monday when the three young novices should be examined as to their dispositions and education.

“This, Father Lawrence, will give you ample time to converse with them and try to inculcate in their quick minds sufficient English vocabulary to understand that when they stand before us, they must needs be docile and obedient above all else, since we are their teachers and confessors equally.”

“They will learn quickly, I promise you. But what think you of the project I spoke of to you over the cheese and ale and biscuits, my eminent Superior?”

“That of aiding the sweet sisters to find their long-lost brother Jean? It may be done, and there is gold enough to provide for the cause if they are worthy and sincere novices. I could send a courier to Barcelona, where it is said shrewd seafaring captains who do commerce with the mighty Bey could bring to him the message of petition.”

“You surely do not store your gold in the seminary, Superior?”

“What better place than in one of the cells we reserve for novices and which is only used for extreme confessional?” the Father Superior retorted. “It is under the kneeling hassock in the corner. Removing it, one has but to lift a panel in the floor, a kind of trapdoor, and there is a bag of gold and silver coins.”

“A most ingenious hiding place, Father Superior. And now, am I to have my quarters with the other priests?”

“Not for this first night. Indeed,” this with an indulgent chuckle, “since in a sense you brought us the treasure of three virginities, my estimable colleague, I shall let you guard this earthly treasure. Your presence in that cell will make the hoard all the safer.”

“I thank you for your trust and confidence. Let me but bless my wards, and then consign them to the tender mercies of Father Ambrose,” my former jailer responded. He spoke rapidly in French, the gist of which was that all three were to remember their vows, and wait till he again communicated with them.

Sweet Marisia, who wore the locket in which I nestled, was approached by the hoarse, wheedling voice of Father Ambrose, who now craftily urged her to allow him, that he might convey her to her quarters where, if she so wished, he would kneel down with her and say a prayer for her sweet dreams. I could picture his gleaming black eyes, his thick lips, his flushed brow, and almost the throbbing of his massive weapon hidden beneath the cassock!

Denise and Louisette followed, after all three had bade Father Lawrence a fond good night and pleasant dreams. When they left, there were universal sighs of admiration from the rest of the company and I heard a few epithets which indicated that the maidens had already roused the highest carnal longing amid the assemblage.

Father Lawrence was shown to that novice's cell by none other than the Father Superior himself, so I did not hear their parting conversation. But I heard Father Ambrose, as he escorted the three girls down the narrow corridor, continue to accost them with flowery words and sly intimations as to his ability, should they find sleep impossible in a new bed, to provide the most excellent of soporifics.

“Ah, now the sisters go in here – come, my children – ah, what lovely limbs, what glorious tresses,” he cajoled. The two of you – here… good. You see, my dears, we shall get along famously, despite your knowing no English. So long as you both do French, I feel my innermost ardors rising for your presence, and you will soon do me honor, as I mean to do you – was ever such fair skin, such liquid, ardent eyes!”

Denise and Louisette, apparently, were paired together in one of the cells. Now he was alone with my sweet young jailer, Marisia. “Come, dear child,” he purred, his voice thick with longing, “you are to go in here, next to your dear friends. I will keep you company for a moment, lest the dark frighten you. Oh, what glossy black tresses, what creamy white skin, what a saucy visage! Here we are, my daughter, is this not comfortable? There is your cot, with an extra woolen blanket to keep you warm. Though I know a better way when the weather is frosty. What tasty white skin, I am dying to caress it! Do not shrink from me, my daughter – I will love you, not harm you. Our order teaches love, undying and eternal, and I profess to you that even in this petty life there are innumerable ways of loving. Do you see what I have for you as a keepsake, my child? Observe – have you ever seen so mighty a cock? Behold how the head sets off from the shaft with a vitality all its own, the taking of which in itself is a commendable feat for any virgin!”

Marisia quavered, “O – I have taken a vow, my F-Father.”

“What is this? The minx speaks English?” Father Ambrose gasped, half to himself.

“Oui, a leetle,” Marisia quavered. No wonder, facing that bull of a priest, whose shaggy black cockmane would be enough to startle a pure virgin out of her wits, to say nothing of what protruded beyond it.

“Then you know what I proffer you, my daughter,” Father Ambrose pursued. “I, of all your confessors here, am most skilled in extracting a maiden's shyness. Without boasting, I will tell you that many a timid virgin has shed her blood willingly to accept the keepsake of my manhood, which womanizes her within an instant, and brings her to a state of grace. Come, let me remove your gown, my daughter!”

“Non, non, I have taken a vow, je vous dis!” Marisia insisted.

“A vow? What vow is this, before you are even a novice?” he cried irately.

I felt myself moved – Laurette had drawn the locket out of her bosom and was holding it up to the fat fearsome priest. “I have taken a vow by this token of Saint Laurette,” she cried.

“Saint Laurette? But that is a French saint of whom I have never heard. She does not pertain here now, my daughter. Come, I burn for you – do you not see how my prick trembles with longing? The viscous drops of white spunk which dribble from these lips speak eloquently of my passion! Ah, what sweet titties the minx has, and what a red little mouth – truly is it said she speaks French well – and she shall speak it to my prick all the night long if she is of such a mind!”

“Non, non, ne me touchez pas! I have taken a vow, I cannot give myself without my vow, Father!” Sweet Marisia cried again in the most passable English.

“Take care lest you raise my wrath more than you already do my prick, my daughter!” he thundered. “Give me this locket – is this your holy relic of Saint Laurette? Let us see what miraculous symbol it contains!”

Again I felt myself wildly jostled about – and then, oh blessed moment, the catch of the locket was released by his fat fingers, and sprang open – and I, I was free again! Oh bliss untold, oh rapturous liberty!

There he stood, his prick monstrously stiff and throbbing, and, as he had himself detailed, white drops of spunk oozing from the puckering lips, and Marisia, her mouth agape at such a sight of cocksureness, shrinking back against the wall of her cell, eyes wide with horror and appeal, her sweet titties rising and falling violently.

“Why, what is this?” he roared, dashing the locket to the floor. “No relic this, but blasphemy of the most heinous kind! I espied a sheaf of silken dark blonde hairs, my child, and in my manly wisdom I recognized those as from the cunt of some fair damsel – a saint. Or if such, then far too young and not yet enshrined in our order! You wish to trick me, do you? Oh, ingenious, sly minx, I will make you groan for your sins, and beg to take a blessing from me between your sweet white thighs! Come, no more of this deception, will you or will you not strip bare, that I may catechize you on our knowledge of cunthairs and all the rest and all the methods by which they are blessed by the emblem of my might and authority!”

With this, chuckling hoarsely, licking his lips, Father Ambrose advanced on the terrified Marisia, who veritably believed her last hour of virginity had come. But as he seized her about the waist, I darted down from my perch on a corner of the cell window, and bit him right on the obscenely monstrous plumhead of his bobbing cock, with all my might, drawing the blood I needed for my nourishment after so long a fast!

With a bellow of a wounded ox, he stumbled back, clapped his hands to his wounded organ, and, in his blind agony, did not see the little kneeling bench behind him. He tripped and fell full length, striking his head on the stone flagging of the cell, and lay unconscious. I darted down, reposing on his left breast a moment, enough to ascertain the breath of life was still much within his hairy chest. Then, in my own righteous dispensation of justice, I bit him a second time on one of his hairy fat spunk-laden balls, to teach him to break maidenheads and force their modest owners to break vows in their turn.

I waited to see what Marisia would do. Recovering, she stooped over her assailant and felt of his heart, then gave a gasp of relief. Then she sped out of her cell into the next, where Denise and Louisette, greatly alarmed by the clamor, were standing with their arms round each other.

Quickly Marisia told them what had taken place. “I am terribly afraid,” she avowed, “that when he comes to, he will wish to thrash me for my deception. The ruse Father Lawrence taught me so industriously has gone for naught, and I fear that ugly fat priest and all the others will seek to ravish us.”

“Oh, that cannot be,” Denise huskily exclaimed, “for I will give myself to no one else by our beloved Pere Lawrence!”

“Then there is but one hope – we must somehow wait till the dead of night and all are asleep, and go to find him and beg him to take us far from this seminary where a maiden's vow counts as nothing,” Marisia declared.

And so it was decided. Huddling in the cell occupied by the two sweet sisters, my lovely raven-haired young benefactress consoled Denise and Louisette with tender kisses and cooings, and I lingered just long enough to see soft hands disappear under rustling skirts as, to appease their frightfully strained nerves, the charming virgins began to frig one another. As for me, I went in search of Father Lawrence.