The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

CHAPTER SEVEN

Father Lawrence did not bother to consult my curiosity, but unknowingly satisfied it because, before leaving the room in which he had just made the deliciously intimate first contact with Louisette, he had donned his cassock for the sake of propriety before calling on his charming ward Marisia and her new friend, and soon-to-be companion at the seminary, Denise.

I therefore went along with him in his pocket, and for your sake, dear reader, I am heartily glad that I did, otherwise I could only offer you conjecture at this stage in his amazingly energetic peregrinations.

He knocked at the door very lightly. Looking back now, I suspect he did this purposely, so that he might enter at once, and then, if – as actually happened – he beheld a scene quite different from what one might expect from two well-bred young girls, he could always excuse himself for having blundered in by asserting that he had indeed knocked at the door for admission.

And so he entered almost before the faint tap of his knock had died away, and instantaneously I heard two girlish squeals, followed by a clucking of Father Lawrence's tongue, and then these gravely intoned words: “My daughters, my daughters, whatever are you doing there atop the bed, and in such scandalously brief attire? Marisia, you being my ward, it is you who must explain what I behold here, for I do not wish to credence the testimony of my own eyes!”

“We – we were becoming ac – acquainted, mon Pere,” I heard Marisia quaver. “Denise was telling me how unhappy she was because her brother had been kidnapped by the wicked tyrants, and I wished to soothe her.”

“I cannot And fault with you for that tender show of compassion, my dear child,” the English ecclesiastic declared, “and if we were back in Languecuisse with the warm sun beating down upon us, I could have a little more tolerance for the brevity of your costumes. Yet outside the wind blusters and the waves are dark and ominous, so that it cannot be attributed to the warmth of the season, this immodesty of apparel. How do you explain, my tender Marisia?”

“I – I did not wish to rumple my dress, mon Pere,” was Marisia's ingenuous reply. “Nor I either, mon Pere,” Denise chimed in.

“Well, upon due reflection,” Father Lawrence said more mildly, “I cannot fault you on that score either. Indeed, I am told that the good fathers at St. Thad-deus are inclined towards parsimony, and so they will welcome you more heartily once they learn you are solicitous in the concern of your garments so as to prolong their life.”

Cynically again, had I possessed the powers of a ventriloquist, I might have informed these charming virgins that, from what I knew of St. Thaddeus, the pious fathers there would welcome them even more heartily were they to wear no dresses at all; and of a certainty, once they had been inculcated into the regimen which prevailed at that Seminary, I very much doubted that they would ever be permitted to wear dresses again, since the fewer clothes covering their charming forms the simpler and swifter the opportunity to teach them all they ever needed to know about the rudiments of fucking.

But I was anxious now to learn how Father Lawrence would profit by the titillating spectacle he must have burst in upon, one which he now detailed by remarking: “All the same, my children, you might have at least retained your chemises. But to lie thus clad only in your drawers and stockings and to huddle together facing each other with your arms about each other's waists, might well be misinterpreted by a less sanguine guardian than I. Was it you, Marisia, who suggested to Denise that both of you remove your chemises?”

“Why, no, mon Pere, it just came about naturally. Before we knew what was happening, there we were on the bed talking about Master Jean, Denise's dearest missing brother. Oh, mon Pere, are you going to help her and Denise find him?”

“Not at this moment, certainly.” I heard a discreet cough, and then I heard something else which made me realize that I had no need to fear the good Father in his failing to take advantage of a situation when it presented itself so surprisingly as this one undeniably had. It was, dear reader, the sly turn of the key in the lock, which meant that he wished privacy and no intrusion whatsoever upon the next few moments.

“Well, lest you two be embarrassed by my appearance in this dour black garb, I will remove it also, to show you how indulgent I am towards the virtue of compassion and of concern for the necessities of life which are bestowed upon you by others more fortunate, my daughters,” he now remarked. Once again I felt myself jiggled this way and that in my metal locket. I knew what that meant only too well: he was removing the cassock, and he was appearing before these virgins as a man, not as a priest. If he had chosen the law as his profession, Father Lawrence might have become a judge advocate, sitting at the Assizes, for his was the kind of compassion towards the indigent and helpless female which would have brought him to the door of Newgate itself to call upon the beadle to hold the birch before it might fall upon the white buttocks of the condemned whores. And if I mistake not, he would have taken each of those poor wenches, soothed their chagrin at being forced to bare their most intimate parts, and then, having dispersed the multitude of greedy sightseers, consoled each in his own virile way.

“Now then, my daughters, we can all be more at our ease,” he resumed in an ingratiating tone of voice. “With your permission, Marisia, and with yours also, dear Denise, I will share your confidences and innermost thoughts. For I know that now, at the brink of this journey across that stormy body of water, both of you must fear your entry into a foreign land. You may well believe that there will be no friends there to greet you, and so, understanding this, I begin to realize why the two of you sought conclave with each other. It was much after the principle of two innocent babes that huddle together in their terror of the elements, seeking warmth and solace one from the other. Ah, what happy Christian virtues are nascent within you both, my daughters!”

With this, I heard a new creaking of the bed, which told me that father Lawrence had taken his place with the two charming girls. It was a pity that I could not see him, for surely, with Marisia and Denise lying there beside him naked from their neck to their waists, his prick must have been in a ferocious state. And because he had already declaimed that virginity was a trust imposed upon him by his new order, and that it could not be revoked until these wards had entered the protective walls of St. Thaddeus, I was mightily curious to learn how he proposed to appease his great longings (as well as his great long prick!).

“Now then, my dear children,” I heard him exclaim as again the bed creaked to suggest that he was settling himself most luxuriously, “let each of you give me her hand to hold, so that I may lie between you as a bulwark of good faith and friendship so allay your timidities and disperse all your fears. I know that the journey seems tempestuous over those stormy waves and under that leaden sky. But the sun will shine tomorrow as surely as my name is Father Lawrence, and the waves will be lulled by the soft breezes that you bring from fair France. I feel that this is true because during my vacation in that memorable little village where I first came upon Marisia, I found no storm or hostility anywhere. And now, my daughters, confess it – do you not both of you feel more at your ease to have me here between you?”

Denise giggled. “It reminds me a little of Jean when he was at home with us,” she confided.

“In what way, my daughter?”

“Well, he was always asking me to let him see my tetons.”

“Your titties? I cannot blame him for that either. How adorably firm and satiny they are to the sight and to the touch. Indeed, one would believe you were several years older than your actual age, my daughter. Your flesh is firm and yet so youthful, with the budding promise of maturity. This is the combination which heats the blood of the most experienced rogue, and that is why it was well that I rescued you and your sister from that wretched pimp. Beauty such as yours must be appreciated by those of wisdom and patience, as well as strength, my charming Denise.”

“Oh, mon Pere,” Denise again giggled, “now you are making me blush even more than Jean did.”

“And why should that be, my daughter?”

“Because you are a full grown man, mon Pere, and because I can see that your bite is so very much bigger than Jean's ever was, even though it is still hidden in your garments.”

She was assuredly a bold jade for a virgin, a wise virgin forsooth, was she not! Yet with unerring knowledge, I could have anticipated Father Lawrence's approval of that forwardness; of energetic mien and temperament himself, he most of all was a priest likely to savor an aggressive wench. It took fewer sermons and wasted less time to engage himself with one who did not simper and fidget and turn away and ask to have every word translated. With girls like Louisette and Denise, as with Georgette, and, farther back, with the Widow Bernard and the Amazonian housekeeper, Desiree, Father Lawrence was sure to be at his most zealous and potent; he did not need to waste his strength or his time in seducing them to bed, since females of that ilk already yearned to be fucked and rogered to the utmost, even if they did not come out and say so in so many words!

“Now, are you both better disposed to take me into your confidence, my daughters?” the virile English ecclesiastic demanded.

“Oh yes, mon Pere,” came from Denise. Marisia, not to be outdone, chimed in with: “You are the only one whom I shall ever confide in, mon Pere, now that I am departing from my beloved Tante Laurette.”

“It does my heart good to know that you two charming children have, like babes in the woods, made up with each other and become good friends. But tell me, Marisia, my dear, did Denise discuss with you aught of the habits of her brother Jean?”

Now it was Marisia's turn to giggle and to murmur, so softly that I almost could not hear. “Oh, oui, mon Pere, she told me a great many things that he did to her and Louisette because he loved them so much.”

“Tattle-tale!” Denise burst out.

“Not so, my dear child, and do not upbraid my ward, for I have already heard something of this intimate story, as you will remember. When I was with you and your sister, my dear Denise, did you not tell me that it was Jean's habit to tickle your most delicate and secret spots but, of course, without committing original sin?”

“Yes, I suppose that is true. But all the same, Marisia shouldn't tell you what I told her in confidence, mon Pere,” Denise sulked.

“Now, now, my daughter, do not show jealousy or expect to have preference, for that does not bode well for our future harmony at St. Thaddeus,” Father Lawrence cautioned. “But you, Marisia, I charge you on your hope of redemption to tell me truthfully whether you mentioned to Denise, your dear new friend, what naughty little games you sometimes played with your Tante Laurette?”

There was now again the sound of giggling which seemed to intimate that the naughty creature in whose locket I was woefully imprisoned had done precisely that, and even with elaborations thereunto.

“Well, I cannot say that I did not anticipate such revelations,” Father Lawrence said rather sorrowfully, “but I truly hope that you did not boast about your powers as a young seductress, for that would be wickedness and carnage, Marisia.”

“Oh no, mon Pere, I only told Denise that Laurette and I would play with Monsieur Villiers' becque so as to try to get it hard for him so that he could fuck Laurette, who is my sweet aunt.”

Marisia, to be sure, used the French word “baiser” to describe distinctly the way the two-backed beast is made. Father Lawrence sighed again and protested, “I shall have to give both of you special lessons in our English tongue when you reach the Holy Seminary of St. Thaddeus, my daughters. While it is true that the French language has the admirable quality of supplying a word for each precise shading of meaning, it is also true that our good rough Anglo-Saxon speechifying contains expressions that for power and vigor and clarity of image cannot be surpassed even if you were to speak in all the tongues of Babel. But now, what is this… is that your hand upon me, Marisia?”

I had learned to recognize the girlish giggle by now, dear reader, so that I could identify Marisia as the culprit. Yes, it was indeed her hand, and Father Lawrence left me in no shadow of a doubt as to where the minx had put it, for he straightaway gasped: “My daughter, you are going to make Denise swoon and think me a lecher, handling me thus! Do you know what you have taken out of my drawers?”

“Oh, I know what it is, if she doesn't, mon Pere,” Denise spoke up so boastfully that I almost wanted to bite her – till I remembered that I could bite no one. “Mon Dieu, it is as big again as – ohh!” And then she stopped, catching her breath in confusion.

“As what? What were you about to say, my daughter?” Father Lawrence sternly demanded.

“Oh, mon Pere, I would rather not say, please.”

“I will forbid you further intimacies with my ward Marisia if you do not truthfully confess, my daughter,” he enjoined.

“Well, mon Pere, if I tell you the truth, I will be guilty of another sin.”

“I absolve you in advance. Now speak, you stubborn vixen!”

“Well, mon Pere,” Denise hesitantly preferred, “after you had sent me off to this room to visit with Marisia, I needed my handkerchief because I was going to sneeze. Then I remembered that I had left it back in the room you had got for me and Louisette, so I went back, and I opened the door and I looked in, but then…”

“I perceive your meaning,” Father Lawrence hastily interrupted. “Well, there is reward for truthfulness, in this world as well as the next. And since it is such, and since I will not show preference and I will not have jealousy between the two of you, do you, Denise, put your soft hand also upon my bite, as you call it, alongside Marisia's dainty hand and then lean over me and kiss each other in token of future sisterhood, for such you shall be from this day forth and even on to your new life at the Seminary!'

Then the bed creaked mightily, and I visualized that the two charming minxes, one on each side of the good Father, moving about to reach over his prone body, each holding her hand upon his mighty prick, to meld their lips in a sweet kiss of innocent and platonic sisterhood. It amused me to wonder, despite his great talk of not showing preference, which of the two sisters Father Lawrence longed most to fuck, and whether, after so chance a meeting and so short an acquaintanceship, he was not more eager to fuck either of them rather than his own charming ward, Marisia, who had no one else in the world as her relative.

“C'est magnifique!” Denise purred, but I do not at this time think she was talking about Marisia's kiss. Nor was she. Father Lawrence again brought light and comprehension to my dark prison by gasping out, “Gently, gently now, my daughters, or you will chafe the tender skin of the head! Was it thus you belabored your brother Jean? I do not wonder that he was happy to go with the pirates, for it is said that the Bey of Algiers enjoys the fondlings of young castrati almost as much as he does that of tender virgins.”

“Not always, mon Pere,” Denise shamelessly replied, “but Jean grew so very excited whenever I or Louisette touched him there. He could not hold his juice very long once my fingers were upon him. I think he liked me better than he did Louisette!”

“Hush, my daughter, vanity, vanity, all is vanity, and it is one of the seven deadly sins! His destiny is to be absent from the two of you, but by your diligence and humility and obedience it may be that he will be restored to you. When that happy day comes, Denise, you will be more appreciative of his manly qualities, and tenderly solace him as a girl should her brother who has passed through such tribulations. So, if you repeat these gentle games, taking care always not to indulge in the crime of incest, you must learn a gentler touch. With the tip of your index finger, my daughter, glide gently over my balls. You too, Marisia, follow Denise on the other side of me. I warrant there is room for both!”

In faith, I might have added that there was room enough also for Louisette if she had not been in the next room.

There followed a veritable symphony of sighs, little gasps and giggles, heartfelt moans, and, above all else, interminable creakings of that sturdy bed which had doubtless given horizontal support to many an amorous couple (or trio or quartet, for all I know) since this worthy inn was constructed. But of one thing I was certain through all this onomatopoetic concert – that Father Lawrence assuredly possessed more self-mastery than young Jean. To be sure, I was abetted in this observation by the remark of gentle Marisia, who some little time later exclaimed, “Oh, mon Pere, the lips are twitching but no juice comes out! It is almost as with Monsieur Villiers!”

“Marisia, you do me an injustice by so comparing me with the memory of that worthy old patron now gone to his eternal rest,” Father Lawrence hoarsely ejaculated. “Surely your experience with Laurette in his bed must have told you the difference. Your fingers toiled till they were numb with frigging, but if he did not yield his juice, it was because he was a sere and withered old man for whom such carnal pleasures had no further purpose. Whereas I, still in the prime and bloom of vigor, have veritable oceans of spunk but know the secret of damming them up until the moment is at hand for true pleasure.”

“Shall I do it in my mouth as I also did to the bite of M'sieu Villiers?” Marisia naively preferred. “Do so, my daughter, and hold yourself in readiness, for I am at the moment of allowing the dam to break. Ah, Denise, your fingers are gentler now, you are learning the good lesson! With the lightest of touches, so that your fingertip scarcely grazes the taut skin of my balls and of my cockhead – aaah, just so, my daughter,” he gasped.

I heard now a soft wet smack, doubtless the sweet osculation of Marisia's lips, and then I heard Father Lawrence cry out, “Ah, Denise, you are denied your share, but it will be your turn next Gratify my sweet ward, who is bringing me to earthly paradise, by putting your soft finger into her little slit and tickling just inside the lips where she is most sensitive. Then you will in a sense share indirectly the ecstasy she procures for me, which must content you till your time has come.”

“I am doing it, mon Pere,” Denise gasped, and I heard Marisia giggle, “That tickles, Denise – oooh, how it tickles… ohh!”

“But do not take your lips off me, or, when the dam bursts, the spunk will have no sweet receptacle,” Father Lawrence panted, and once more I heard that inimitable sucking sound which is the precursor of a good frenching.

Now the symphony in the room had reached its crescendo. And with groans and sighs and little squeals, the two girls plied Father Lawrence as he had described his desire for them so to do, and when I definitely heard his hoarse bellow and knew that he had at last let the dam burst, the gurgling music which ensued told me that Marisia had provided the sweet receptacle so urgently needed. And yet, even as she gurgled to bring him bliss, I heard her commingling moan and knew that Denise's finger had been frigging her dainty tickler and so drawn her towards her own juvenile earthly paradise.

At long last Father Lawrence, in a langorous and beatific tone, remarked, “My daughters, I am well pleased with your compatibility and sisterly appreciation of sharing. Remember that I will be always with you to guide you through the most arduous course of trials which it may be your lot to endure before your orphanage is truly at an end. But, Denise, you have your handkerchief after all, I see.”

“Oui, mon Pere. I had forgotten that I had put it in another pocket of my dress.”

“But you are patting yourself between your satiny thighs, my daughter. Is it true what I suspect, that while you were solacing Marisia, you solaced also yourself with your own tender little hand?”

“That is true, mon Pere. I could not help it. Seeing Marisia wriggle so and feeling how her little tickler was growing hard, I felt my own stir within me, and I had to close my eyes and tickle myself there and pretend that it was Jean.”

“I see, my daughter,” Father Lawrence sighed heavily, “that I shall have to devote a quiet hour one day soon towards edifying you in the joyous little games by which pleasure is devised upon this trenchant sphere of ours. But now I think it wise that we seek repose, so that all of us will be ready to board the ship at eventide.”

And once again there was a creaking of the bed, this time gentler and more subdued, indicating that Father Lawrence and his two charming wards had sought the arms of Morpheus rather than one another.