the least feel sorry for the poor woman but instead he poked around in her behind for another ten minutes. His pole was still stiff and hard and he was trying to come again, for the third time.
He was so delighted that it took him a while before he realized that his housekeeper had stopped moving altogether.
“What? Don't tell me that you have had enough already… you poor old woman. Come on, show some courage… here we go again. Lift up a little bit and push your ass towards me… I promise that this is my last number…”
But Miss Gertrud did not answer. His entreaties fell on deaf ears. He implored again, but to no avail. On the contrary, her skin turned slack, and her arms and legs were stiffening… And her roomy asshole began to contract, getting narrower and narrower. The priest suddenly discovered that he was unable to pull out.
First he believed that the old woman had a new trick up her sleeve, and he was willing to comply. He pushed as hard as he could, straining his back and buttocks. His cock had been shoved up to the hilt. Then he discovered that they were so firmly locked together, as if he had put his prick in a vacuum cylinder. The hole kept contracting still more, and the priestly dick was firmly locked, notwithstanding the desperate struggles of its owner.
Now he begged Gertrud to stop her joking.
“Enough is enough!” he screamed. “Open up, you old bitch… you're squeezing my dong to a pulp… you're hurting me!.. please, Gertrud, have mercy… your ass feels like a thumb screw… stop it, I command you!”
And Father Pineraide grabbed Gertrud's head, turning it around so that she would face him. He thought he was going to have a heart attack at what he saw!
The sallow complexion of his housekeeper had changed to a yellowish green… her eyes were wide open, glazed, and staring into nothingness. Father Pineraide did not have to be told what had happened…
No doubt about it… she was as dead as a doornail. The priest wanted to jump out of his bed, but when he lifted himself, he took the poor woman with him. Her limp body was dangling at the end of his captive prick. They were exactly like two dogs who had finished a fucking bout.
The situation was terrible.
The priest tried at least a hundred times to free himself from his lifeless burden, but it was to no avail. His prick was united forever with the despicable behind of his lifeless housekeeper.
Cold sweat trickled down his temples…
Was he doomed to be united forever with this cadaver? And also… what would become of him, if he were ever found in this situation? It would be the scandal of the century! Nobody had surely ever seen a thing like this. What a terrible revenge of an asshole!
No, no! It just couldn't happen! Not to him!
And just as he was about to check the lifeless mass under him to make sure that she was dead, the doorbell rang.
The hairs on his neck stood on end.
The situation became more and more complicated.
What was he going to do?
It would be rather indecent to go and open the door, a dead housekeeper dangling at the end of his dong.
They rang for the second time. Now who could that be? Perhaps it was his superior, Father Duretron. That was who it must be. He suddenly remembered that he was supposed to have a conference with his superior that evening.
Father Pineraide almost lost his composure. Then, suddenly, a brilliant idea hit him…
“Hurrah,” he exclaimed, “I have been saved! Let's not wait…”
And he took the poor housekeeper in his arms, hoisted her off the bed, and dragged her into the dining room. He took the largest knife he could find, and prepared himself to slice open her behind.
With a few expert movements he made the first deep incisions, and suddenly he heard a strange hissing sound. It looked as if a big boil had burst open.
Finally, his prick was released. It was a poor, martyred dong, squeezed flat like a little sausage. But… it was free! The cut of the knife had another effect, too. Gertrud sighed deeply, opened her eyes, and regained consciousness.
“Aaah!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “This bloodletting has saved me… I can finally breathe again!”
Though he was hilariously happy about the fortunate ending of his little adventure, the priest did not allow himself enough time to show his pleasure.
“Hurry,” he said to his housekeeper, while he began to dress himself, “put on your clothes, and open the door. Somebody rang the bell…”
CHAPTER VII. Georgette
It was not Monsignor Duretron who rang the doorbell.
It was Georgette. Georgette was a young, pleasant-looking brunette of barely eighteen who was very popular in town. As a matter of fact she was about to be crowned Queen of Virtue.
Gertrud was in a hurry, because she wanted to rinse out her ass. Moreover, she could barely walk. She quickly let Miss Georgette into the living room and asked her to wait for the priest to appear. She then stumbled up the stairs to her room and, with a deep sigh, stretched out upon her bed.
The priest was finishing his toilet, and he wondered what the girl might want from him. Gertrud had told him that a girl was waiting for him before she had crawled up the stairs toward her room. This time the priest was not excited at all. His fierce carnal lusts had been completely satisfied and he was totally incapable to perform the act of love in any manner whatsoever. Besides, his prick burned something awful. He had carefully examined it, and decided that it needed a few days' rest.
Nevertheless, the young priest was immensely satisfied with his one day's work.
Now he finally knew the woman, and his first struggles on the battlefield of love had shown him that many, untold pleasures were still awaiting him. He intended to possess every single woman in Motte-sur-Vy, except for the old ones, of course. Of those he had had more than his fill.
He put on his most peaceful face, crossed his arms over his chest, let his gaze become warm and mellow, and walked into the dining room to meet Miss Georgette. This time he was not going to give up his role as a good priest. Just before he entered the dining room he folded his hands, bowed his head. His steps were measured.
“You want to see me, my dear child,” he said with unctuous voice when he stood in front of Georgette.
“Yes, Monsignor, my grandmother advised me that you were the only one who could help me.”
“Please, go on… I am listening.”
And Father Pineraide sat down, his face severe and full of devoted attention.
“Monsignor,” Georgette said, “you probably don't know yet that I have been selected this year to become Queen of Virtue.”
“Is that so? No, my child, I did not know that. I am completely new here… But I do believe that I have already seen you.”
“Yes, Monsignor… I was lucky enough to be noticed by you… at the corner street, near the granary.”
“Ah, yes… now I remember. But didn't you wear your arm in a sling?”
“Yes, sir. But I took it off when Grandmother told me to visit you.”
“Are you injured?”
“Yes, I have a very bad finger. It hurts terribly, and I cannot do my work. You see, Monsignor, I am a laundress. And for three days now I have been unable to do anything.”
While she was telling of her plight, Georgette had taken her sore finger from under her apron.
The middle finger had been carefully wrapped in white linen. The girl unwrapped the sore finger and showed it to the priest.
“And,” the young girl continued, “the funny thing is that I don't even know what's wrong with me. That's why Grandmother, whom I support with my work, suggested to see you. 'Dear grandchild,' she said, 'if I were you, I would go and see the priest. He is a very learned man and he can probably tell you what's wrong with you.' That
