The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

CHAPTER NINE

When at last Father Lawrence and that forward hussy Georgette had emerged from the wine cellar, the worthy landlord was already coming down the stairs from his own room to ascertain his daughter's whereabouts so that she might aid him in preparing the evening meal for all their guests. With some little experience in the matter, the good English ecclesiastic had first ascended from the wine cellar and engaged his host in chitchat, while the sly minx slipped off towards the kitchen. But the landlord was in a most irritable mood and because his eyes were wandering about even while Father Lawrence was engaging him in conversation, he chanced to espy Georgette. Whereupon he angrily bellowed for her to give account of herself and to explain why, although he had called out her name no fewer than three times, she had now come to answer that summons.

“I feel that I must take the blame for that, my worthy host,” the ever gallant Father Lawrence responded. “Since my three wards are young, mere babes scarcely weaned away from their mothers' milk, and since they asked me whether they might be permitted this one indulgence of good wine to drink a farewell toast to la belle France, I did engage Georgette to accompany me to the cellar there to seek the beatific and moderate vintage which would not have intoxicating effect upon these virginal damsels. Your daughter, my good man, displayed such good knowledge of the wines of this country that I was rapt in listening to her and in considering one over the other, and therefore I fear I kept her longer than I should.”

With this, he drew out his purse and laid down a piece of gold. “I wish to settle my score, and you will of course include the supper which your daughter will bring presently to my wards. To my reckoning, also, whatever nourishment you have for a humble priest this evening to give him strength before he sets foot upon the deck of the vessel that takes us to England.”

Seeing that his host hesitated, he took out yet another gold piece, and with a lordly gesture clinked it down upon the first, saying, “Whatever there is left from those two coins, let it be as a pourboire for you and Georgette to drink my health and to wish me well when I am embarked upon the rolling sea of the Channel.”

This grandiloquent gesture erased the final suspicion from Georgette's father's brain, for he burst into a torrent of French expletives, the gist of which was that in all his years as owner of this humble inn, he had never entertained so worthy and gracious a guest as Father Lawrence, no, not even nobility. “And it has been good for my wayward daughter, who is an only child, may heaven defend her,” he added effusively.

“Amen to that!” Father Lawrence interposed in his fluent French, sending a surreptitious glance towards the bridling hoyden, who pretended to busy herself with pouring out wine from an ewer.

“As I was saying,” her father obsequiously pursued, “the presence here of Votre Grace has brought great peace of mind to me, for, look you, this strapping and handsome demoiselle makes calf's eyes at every man that wears trousers. Ah, but Votre Grace, when you first entered my humble inn, I told myself that now Georgette would be under your protection and would be blessed as well as saved from any wrongdoing.”

“And so she has been, for she is a worthy girl, with only her father's best interests at heart. I have already given her my blessing, and that, too, was why she was delayed in responding to your parental summons.”

“You are much too kind, Votre Grace. Georgette, hasten to the kitchen and make certain that the repast Son Eminence has ordered for his three young wards will be brought to them directly. See to it also that he has the very best of what is cooking this eventide.”

“I would not give him anything that is not of the very best, mon Pere,” Georgette cooed. “Ah, I wish I could have seen her winsome face when she responded so ambiguously to her father. For of course the French term for 'father' is exactly the same that a reverent and dutiful demoiselle accords a man of the cloth such as Father Lawrence was! And she had certainly given the latter all of her best and most energetically and ardently as well, unless my sense of hearing had totally deceived me. That is how, by the way, I was able to discern that she was pouring from an ewer, because the splash of the liquid from such a container is more fulsome than from a mere bottle. You see, we fleas are not only the pestiferous creatures which you humans upbraid and swear at when we sting you; and remember that when we do, it is only to prolong our own lives, and that we take only a very tiny bit of blood, far less injurious to your systems than, if I may be precise, the vitality which Father Lawrence lost each time he jetted his bubbling spunk into the sweet cunt of a novice like Georgette. Not quite two hours later, supper had been partaken of by all concerned, Georgette's father had outdone himself in florid rhetoric to bid his worthy and distinguished guest adieu, and Louisette, Denise, and Marisia, demurely attired for their journey out upon the Channel this night, got into the carriage which the landlord himself had graciously summoned to take them to the wharf where their vessel awaited.

There was only a slight difficulty when they boarded the good ship Bonaventura. The captain, whose voice was gruff and surly, grudgingly explained that because the sailing had been delayed so long in view of the inclement weather, there were now more passengers bound for Dover than he had originally expected. He could not possibly assign cabins to the three charming demoiselles who accompanied the English ecclesiastic.

“Good captain,” Father Lawrence flatteringly replied in polished French, “I would not think to encumber you with the petty matter of providing bunks for your passengers, when you are burdened with the great responsibility of all our lives in keeping the wheel ever so straight upon the course and braving the angry gusts that seek to flounder your sturdy vessel! A single cabin will do, good captain. You see by my raiment that I am a man of the cloth, and these poor orphans are my wards whom I am taking back as neophytes to the Seminary of St. Thaddeus. As for me, I am yet vigorous with my years, and my flesh is not weak, so it matters not where or how I sleep.”

This little speech so impressed the surly captain that he barked an order to a seaman to escort “le bon et digne Pere” to a cabin which should be across from that occupied by the first mate. Father Lawrence then turned to his charges and said to them gently, “Do you not see, my daughters, that the Lord will provide even in the face of what seems insurmountable obstacles? Now we shall become snugly ensconced, and I am glad of this, for it gives me an opportunity to hold intimate converse with you and to fortify you for your entry as neophytes. It is an undertaking which must sober your most mature reflections, and that is why I am delighted to be so close to you this night that we may share the thoughts that undeniably must be passing through your young impressionable minds.”

A little later, the English ecclesiastic and his three delicious wards were safely quartered in the cabin, which he pronounced quite spacious for their needs. There were but two bunks, he said, so that Louisette and Denise, being sisters by blood, should not be separated and would take the lower bunk. Marisia would clamber to the upper bunk, while as for himself, if the ship did not toss and pitch and roll about too much, he could make do quite nicely by stationing himself on the floor and resting his back against the oaken chest apparently belonging to the second or third mate, since it was the practice of vessels of this kind, when there were more passengers than nominal, for the highest ranking of the vessel's personnel to give up their own cabins to the travelers.

Denise and Louisette changed into their shifts and got promptly into their bunk while Father Lawrence went to the porthole and peered out into the night, thus having his back to them and protecting their virginal modesty. Marisia also changed into her shift during this tender mark of propriety. The only light in the cabin was cast by an oil lamp near the bunks, but Marisia, who doubtless felt herself to be more a waif than ever in this ship's cabin and aloft in the air above the bed occupied by her two dear friends, quavered, “Do not yet blow out the lamp, mon Pere, for I am fearful, having never before boarded a ship to cross the sea!”

“Have no fear, my dear Marisia,” he said kindly, “by morning we shall be in Dover, and then we shall make a leisurely journey to London. The sea is calm now, and there is nothing to fear. As I mentioned to you, and to you too, Louisette and Denise, I wish to tell you something of this seminary where you will be housed, fed, and well looked after.”

(Oh, well looked after indeed, and looked into and at and by and much more, if I in my locket am still the same flea that once fled the venue where Julia and Bella entered as ingenuous novices and soon became precocious experts in the gentle art of fucking and sucking and being sucked as well!)

“Will we be happy there, mon Pere?” Denise, in her provocatively husky voice now asked.

“Happiness, my daughter, is an intangible substance. It cannot be measured, and it is not always material. It is a word that covers a multitude of joys, and, alas, sometimes a multitude of sins as well. For example, a naive child who had never tasted sweets might be handed a stick of barley candy by some lecherous old rogue who wished to take indecent liberties with her person. Yet in her guilelessness, sucking that candy, she might believe that she had attained a state of happiness, whereas the villainous old man, who lusted for her person, would not know happiness until he had tasted her in exchange. Do you see my parable, my daughters?”

“Oh yes,” Marisia giggled. “But you remember what you promised me, mon Pere!”

“And what was that, my daughter?”

Now surely whatever seaman had occupied this cabin before the good Father and his wards must never have heard in all his born days such a startling piece of conversation as the black-haired country demoiselle now expounded ever so merrily and hopefully: “Why, mon Pere, that before I became a novice you would fuck me with your great big prick!”

Father Lawrence coughed, possibly from an overdraught of the sea air from the porthole which he banged shut almost instantly upon Marisia's last word, then he approached the bunks, carrying me with him all this while, for he had not yet taken off his cassock. “Tut, tut, Marisia, haven't I told you that a gently bred girl does not blurt out such candid words? It is only when we are reasonably certain of not being eavesdropped upon by bigoted interlopers that we may allow our speech such liberties.”

“Oh, mon Pere,” Louisette's sweet clear voice now wished attention, “that would not be fair to fuck Marisia and to ignore your two new wards, Denise and myself! Why will you not fuck all three of us?”

“My daughters, there is something that I must tell you in all confidence, and you must swear upon your virginal honor not to reveal it to any other priest. It is this: as I have tried to explain, I am new to the Seminary, and although I have lived a great deal and preached many sermons of righteousness, I will not have the standing in this seminary that I had in my former bailiwick, nor even in Languecuisse, where there was only Pere Mourier to contest with me in the battle for saving souls. No, my daughters, there will be at least a dozen or even a score of stalwart priests at Thaddeus; and each, who is as zealous in his own faith as I am in mine, will doubtless seek to convert you to his argument. There is first of all the Father Superior, who has a kind of droit de seigneur over every novice.”

But the irrepressible Marisia, who had already seen the good Father's qualifications for his post, was not to be put off so readily; once again, her voice quivering with merriment as well as with anticipation, she urged: “But surely no one at the Seminary can have as big a prick as you do, mon Pere!”

“You must not make me vain by paying me such compliments, Marisia,” he chided gently. “That would be to do disrespect to my colleagues and to play them false.”

“Do you mean that they will fuck us too, mon Pere?” Once again the sensually titillating voice of lovely Denise rose in the air of the little cabin. He coughed and replied, “At this moment, my daughter, to answer you truthfully, I do not see how it can be avoided. If you were actually my daughters of flesh and blood it would not be permitted. Or again, were any one of you my bride, that too would not be permitted – but then, of course, since we are not authorized to wed, the problem is theoretical at any rate. And I cannot, much as I would wish, hoard you for myself. Unless, but no – I would not instruct you to be devious, my daughters.”

“But I like you best of any priest, mon Pere. So much more than Pere Mourier!” Marisia told her champion.

“You flatter me greatly, my daughter. You touch me to the quick. But I put my duty above my private feelings and consign all three of you safely and intact as regards your virtue to the Seminary for your novitiate-hood. It is a solemn estate, my daughters, I can arrange, perhaps, to attend you when your hour has come to pass from the laity into the more exalted state of being received as wards of the Holy Seminary.”

“But a moment ago, mon Pere,” Louisette now wished to be heard from again, “you said that you did not wish to instruct us to be devious. Did you mean that there might be a way where we would be solely under your protection and not have to be fucked by all those priests whom we do not know and whom we might not like to fuck us?”

“I began to say that, yes, my daughter. But it would be too artful, too much like deception, and certainly far too selfish on my part.”

“But tell us, anyway, do tell us!” Marisia cried.

“Well, my daughters, you have heard of portents and miracles and signs of great moment in the Bible, have you not?”

“Oh yes!” all three chorused eagerly.

“To preserve your chastity against the burning and righteous zeal of the priests who will stand superior to me in seniority – though, and here I am vain to the utmost in even hinting at such a thing, I doubt that they will outstand me in stature of my fifth limb – if you would put them off by devising a kind of riddle, it would be possible that if all of them should fail to solve this riddle I should then be the one who would initiate you into the tender mysteries.”

“What kind of riddle?” Denise breathlessly demanded.

“In the Bible there is a parable which saith that it is easier for a camel to enter through a needle's eye than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” the English ecclesiastic's voice waxed mellow and sententious, and I could almost see the smile which curled so beatifically about his rugged visage. “Now, what is it which hides from view the dainty virginal orifice of a female which a male desires to fuck?”

There was silence for a moment while the three of them pondered this perverse parable, and then Marisia, the irrepressible, piped up with a cry of joy: “The maidenhead, mon Pere?”

“Yes, truly, but not from the sight, Marisia. The hymen is that hidden barrier to bliss which nestles just inside the soft lips, but it is not the answer to my riddle.”

“I have it, mon Pere,” Louisette gleefully expounded. “It is the hair over the con!”

“Exactly, my daughter!” he jubilantly cried. “Nature, to protect us from unfriendly elements, when man and woman were cast out of Eden eternities ago, did contrive to hide those most sensitive parts of our anatomy with body hair. And so it is true that the hair over a virgin's cunt shields her first of all from both the eyes and the prick of the male who covets her maidenhead. Before first taking your maidenhead, therefore, my daughters, my colleagues will have to reckon with the hairs of your tender cunts. And if you would say to them that you have vowed to give yourselves only to him who can guess the exact numbers of the tender silky tendrils which conceal your virginities, it may well be that your vow will be respected.”

“Oh, yes, I see now,” gurgled Louisette. “But you will know the answer, will you not, Father Lawrence, and so it will be you who fucks us after all!”

“You are as witty as you are beautiful, my daughter. So, while this light of the lamp is not the best, I will go back to the porthole to look out upon the calm sea and to say my orisons, while you hasten to count, each of you, each silken strand of the down which so modestly veils your virgin cunts!”

“Oh, mon Pere,” Marisia squealed, “you have saved us for yourself! But do you mean that we must count them one by one?”

“Yes, my child, and you must memorize the total number and never forget it, so that when one of the worthy brethren at the seminary demands that you open to him those gates of paradise, you will tell him of your vow. You will permit him to guess, although it may be that if he is a doubting Thomas, he will insist upon the prerogative of counting them himself, and that you must submit to, my child. But even under that latter circumstance, should he err in even so much as one tender silk-bearing follicle, then you can honestly and truthfully say unto him that your vow is still secure and that you must, in all humility but honesty refuse his desires.”

“But we will tell you, will we not, mon Pere?” Denise's husky voice queried.

“I do not ask you to do this, my dear daughter,” Father Lawrence sounded more benign than I had ever heard him do before. “And it must be of your own volition, for I seek no preference. I stand – as does the polarity of my manhood – totally on my merits.”

I feared that the good Father would expound once again ad infinitum on this by now somewhat tiring pun, but he did not. He waited instead for the response from his three charming wards, and it was not long in coming. Louisette now spoke: “Why, then, it would be well for us to begin the count now before we reach the Seminary, mon Pere. But the light from this oil lamp is dim. It is difficult to see and perchance we might count one where there are two and so be in error ourselves and in peril of losing that which we might prefer to bestow upon you, our dear protector and savior!”

“I am at your disposal, always, my daughters. If you wish me to do the counting, I would be privileged and accurate, too, I can tell you,” he eagerly responded.

Now I had greater admiration than ever, for here was a man of good faith and pious works, who, like the three young Israelites who allowed themselves to be flung into the fiery furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, of his own free will was offering himself up as sacrifice to the most lewd and exciting of temptations. He was about to enact the very parable of St. Anthony. I felt certain that he would be more than equal to the test which a lesser mortal belonging to the laity could hardly be expected to pass. I remembered the story of Thais who showed herself in the desert to that mournful priest Athanais who had cried out in contumacy against her lubricity and yet how he had succumbed to mortal sin. But Father Lawrence was made of sterner stuff.

I felt that there was a symbolism to this also. Here I was, ensconced within a little sheaf of fragrant love-hairs which had enshrined the pussypetals of gentle Laurette, and now these three girls were about to protect their maidenheads by taking cognizance of the same intimate substance. Perhaps, if I could have the power to radiate the expressions of thought through this accursed metal locket, I might yet contrive to reach the eclectic mind of Father Lawrence and get him to open that memento at long last. I do confess, dear reader, that I was anxious to behold how he would go about the counting. Now there are Zulu chieftains who, though adjudged ignorant and stupid by the standards of so-called civilized men, yet can tell you to the last doe how many deer are in their herd or how many cows down to the very last and puniest of calves. They have, you see, their own methods of counting, and their history is far more primitive and ancient than that of the European. But I had never before heard of tallying the very follicles of silky hair which entwined so mysteriously and lovingly over the tender love-chasm of a human female.

I now heard the rustling of sheets from the lower bunk where Denise and Louisette were quartered, and then, amid suppressed giggles and sighs, Louisette's muffled voice saying: “Mon Pere, my sister and I have decided to count by ourselves, one serving the other.”

“What a charming and original manner of tallying is this!” the English ecclesiastic exclaimed and his voice sounded suspiciously inflamed from the visual excitement the two minxes were evidently providing to his enraptured eyes. “But turn a little to the side, my daughters, so that you will catch, each of you, the widest benefit of the illumination of the lamp – ah, that is better. Louisette, you are above your sister which is mete, since you are the older. Now do not be distracted in this good work, although I do not think the task should take too long since you are both too young to have amassed, as is said of ancient generals, your thousands and tens of thousands.”

How graphically and yet how euphemistically the good Father described his visions! I was indebted to him for furnishing me eyes where mine could not see through metal. Yet the position which Louisette and Denise were taking was, contrary to his laudatory praise, hardly original, though it was certainly charming. It was known as soixante-neuf, and so I had the setting delineated for me to my imagination's content: Louisette knelt astride Denise with her face peering at the silky curls of the latter's pussy, while from below Denise gazed up into the sweet confines of Louisette's cunthole.

I heard more giggles and a stifled, “Ma foi, that tickles – ooooh, Denise, you naughty girl, attend to the matter at hand and do not distract me so or I cannot count correctly what I am trying to tally.”

“Would it not be better, mon Pere,” Marisia now sweetly queried, “if I did not descend from this perilous perch so high above the floor and came down on your level so that you might assist me in my own reckoning?”

Father Lawrence gave a soft little groan, by which I knew his own temptation of St. Anthony was commencing in the most inflammatory way.

Finally he responded, “Very well, my daughter, since you asked for my aid and I am your guardian, I will assist you. I will sit down here atop this sturdy stool, for the vessel now keeps an even keel thanks to my prayers and the good seamanship of our worthy captain. Do remove your nightshift and sit upon my lap with your legs well spread and your arms about my neck so that I may apply myself to the task and have a clear view of the proceedings.”

I heard Marisia now scramble down from the bunk, then the soft rustle as she doffed her only veil, whereupon Father Lawrence sucked in his breath to announce that the temptation was even more exacerbating than before. Then came the padding of bare dainty little feet upon the cabin floor and presently the gasp and the squeal by which Marisia seated herself upon her guardian's lap in her deliriously naked state. “There, mon Pere,” she blithely announced, “I am ready for the tallying.”

“You see, my dear daughter,” he explained, “you are younger than either Louisette or Denise, and hence you must not be disappointed if the tally that I make now does not equal theirs. That, my child, is attributable to nature. Now hold tightly, and stop breathing in my ear and nibbling at the lobe of it, or I shall not be able to finish until dawn, which would deprive you of your sleep.”

“Oh, mon Pere,” she whispered passionately, “I would not care if it took until we reached the Seminary so long as you keep tickling me with your fingers that way. Oooooh, aaaahhh, it is so delicious! Hurry and complete the tally if you will, mon Pere, so that the time will come soon that you will be the one to take my maiden-flower!”

His breath was quick and panting, clearly audible to me and no wonder! Had I not seen Marisia and Laurette naked upon the bed of the old patron and with both charming damsels seeking to empower that incompetent old graybeard to possess his rightfully intended bride, yet to scant avail? Nubile though Marisia was and just past thirteen and a half years to her own chronological tally, she would have no trouble in empowering Father Lawrence – indeed, had I been then out of the locket, I would have been sure to behold that monstrous staff, or pole, or whatever he preferred to call it, was fully attentive to the naked satiny gaping thighs of his lovely ward.

“Hold still, my daughter!” he hoarsely reproved her now as she must have wriggled or hugged him or applied a teasing little kiss or flick of her tongue. “There is a time for everything in this life, and this is not yet the time for your seductiveness. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… thirty-one and two and three all in a cluster, thirty-four and five and six and seven and eight – oh, what a silken sprig rises here at the lower part of your virgin cunny, my dear Marisia. Thirty-nine and forty… and one and two and three… then four all solitary as if abandoned by its silken sisters – upon my word, my daughter, you are more abundantly fleeced than I had remembered. But perhaps it is the warmth and moisture of this area, which, like a garden, nurtures the sweet plants that grow about the oasis of pleasure itself. And since I know you to be of a passionate and generous nature, my daughter, it is, upon second reflection, not surprising at all that nature has so bounteously provided you… to continue, we have now reached fifty-nine, sixty and one and two and three – oh, my lovely daughter, do not squirm your bottom so tantalizingly over my lap, or I cannot answer for the consequences.” And on he went, steeling himself against the flirtatious and licentious coquetry of raven-haired Marisia, who, I was convinced, used every trick in her juvenile power to get him to take her maidenhead.

After what I should judge was half an hour later, he announced the total in a voice that trembled and was faint, no doubt from his absorption with the methodicity of his task: “I make it one-hundred eighty-seven hairs, my daughter, which would include some nineteen tiny follicles beginning to nestle along the ambery and sinuous crevice leading from your virgin cunny to the sweet pink rosette between your saucy buttocks. Now give me a kiss to thank me for my labors, and then put on your nightshift and go back to your bed.”

“But, mon Pere,” Marisia complained in a woeful tone, “I know I shall not sleep, for while you were counting my pussyhairs, my bare-bottom felt your big hard prick rub it constantly. Besides that, as you must know, the tickling of your fingers as you drew one pussyhair away from another in order to tally accurately caused me such a tickling and a heating in my little con that I am burning up as with fever! Will you not dispatch me so that I may sleep and dream of the time when we shall be together in the Seminary, mon Pere?”

“Was ever a father so plagued by so demanding a daughter?” he playfully quipped. “Well, since nature's best soporific is the sweet exhaustion after a bout of fucking, that would be the ideal palliative for your tautened nerves, my daughter. But since we are both agreed that I shall not take prime advantage over my worthier colleagues, I shall have to content you with a little sucking. In turn, you must do the same for me, for if your bottom has complained of the rudeness of my prick, it is simply because your sauciness has brought that hardness all about.”

“Oh I will gladly do that for you, mon Pere,” Marisia volunteered.

“Then let me carry you to this oaken chest upon which you may lie in all security and comfort and accessibility,” he suggested. He took hold of her and lifted her and must have carried her to the chest, for she giggled and squealed and kissed him noisily, saying, “I would so much rather feel your great prick tallying for itself in the place you have made so hot and eager, mon Pere.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan's daughter,” he hoarsely parried. “It is not seemly for a maiden to be too greedy, but far better to be grateful for what pleasures are granted from hour to hour in this transient life of ours! I shall gamahuch you, Marisia, while you french me, so that in a sense you, a forsaken orphan, will feel a kinship with Denise and Louisette who are already about to end their tallying and perform that same ceremony which you French damsels call soixante-neuf.”

I heard some squirmings and sighings then as Marisia was laid upon the chest on her back and adjusted herself to a more comfortable posture in which to show her gratitude for those favors being provided at the moment. Then she cried out with astonished delight, “Oh it is so big and red, it is on fire, I can never take it all into my mouth!”

“If that be true, how then could you expect to take it in your virgin cunt?” he chuckled. His next words sounded muffled and lower, meaning that he had pressed his lips against the tender orifice whose hirsute camouflage he had already examined.

“I will try my best,” Marisia promised.

“The angels themselves could do no more, my daughter. Aah – yes, gently and softly, do not be too greedy at first, lest you repent of your temptations! Ohhh, how your soft lips cling and burn the tip of my aching cock! Oh, you would dare to use your tongue to tempt me to folly, would you, my daughter? Then I must retaliate in kind – there, take that, and that, in that squirming little pussy of yours – why, it is already moist and tinged with a milky liqueur!”

“I could not help it, mon Pere,” Marisia gasped, “but when you were counting my pussyhairs, I felt so squirmy in my little con that it was all I could do to keep from crying out when something melted inside me.”

“That was your come, my daughter. Ohhh, you sweet vixen, you will soon pluck from me the little seed I have left!”

He was now not quite so boastful of his amorous exploits as he had been in the morning, and I found him much more admirable when he was not a braggart like the illustrious Casanova who, if you were to believe his memoirs, had fucked every beautiful peasant girl and widow and noble woman in all Europe during the short span of his busy lifetime. Yet, having done my own tallying on him, during the past forty-eight hours, I knew that he could not have possibly much spunk left, having deposited so much on the other side of the Channel before boarding the Bonaventura.

Then again he called out, this time more sharply, “Denise, Louisette, you are not to imitate us till you have finished your count! Have you done so yet?”

“Almost, mon Pere,” Denise's husky voice was trembling and unsteady now, “but I do think I have at any rate a score more little hairs over my con than does Louisette, even though she be older!”

“Do not forget to count those which grow along the shadowy valley between your two virgin orifices, my daughters,” he counseled, and then his voice rose in a muffled cry, “Aiii! Prepare yourself, Marisia, you have brought this upon your own self by your teasing tongue! Take it then, my daughter, for it is all I have left to give you!”

I heard him groan, but that groan was still muffled, so he must have returned to the soft niche of his lovely raven-haired ward and paid her back with his own delving tongue just as hers made surge forth the final gobbets of his viscous spunk. For now Marisia's cry of bliss drowned out his groan and the oaken chest was noisy with their wrigglings and pantings and tremorings upon it.

“We have finished, mon Pere,” Louisette gasped, “may we now have our soporific too?”

But he did not answer, only continuing to gasp and sigh in the aftermath of mouth-fucking. I heard Denise murmur to Louisette: “We must not disturb him at his orisons, my sister. Let us hurry so that we may sleep soundly! I am going to kiss you there between your pretty legs!”

“And I between yours, dear Denise!”

Whereupon there were such slushing and suckings and tonguings and kissings and moanings and sighings as I must admit I had not heard since my first days at the Seminary at St. Thaddeus. And to think that these three embryonic temptresses were but a few days' journey from that haven of repose and redemption and rogering!