She turned aside, woefully embarrassed to have been so bold, but Father Lawrence, far from being wroth over her bawdiness, encouraged it by pursuing: “You do not offend me, my daughter, in likening me to a worthy consort who gave you heaven, and it is pleasing when man and wife take satisfaction, for true marriages are made in heaven, and it is pleasing when man and wife take joy of each other.”
“I—I am sure of that, Your Reverence. It was only that Gervaise—well, he did not take his joy when it was offered, and we often quarreled over that. Looking back now, I repent my sinfulness, Your Reverence. I—I asked him to—to do things to me that he swore were not proper even between husband and wife. And so he took to drink and forsook my bed.”
“Nothing that is done in love between man and woman can be improper, my daughter. It is a pity he did not comprehend this great maxim.”
“Oh, yes,” she sighed, twisting her fingers nervously about and still averting her scarlet face from his gaze.
“Perhaps it will ease your troubled heart to reveal to me the nature of the dissension between you, and your deceased spouse, Madame Bernard,” he prompted.
“Ohh, Y—Your Reverence, I should never dare!” she breathed.
“But unless I know, I can hardly prescribe for your distress, my daughter. Come, I have told you I am on vacation from my order for this entire month, so regard me rather as a sympathetic friend and not a Grand Inquisitor,” he affably remonstrated.
“You—you will not sc—scold me or sermonize me?” she whispered.
“Not one whit, I promise. Quickly, speak!” he urged, sitting up on the edge of the bed and taking her trembling hand.
She hung her head like a little girl caught in mischief and finally blurted out, in a very tremulous voice, “I—I sometimes wished Gervaise to—to take me from—from behind, in the way I—I have seen animals couple in the field.”
“Why, that is but following the example set by nature. How, then, could he take offense?”
The buxom young widow squirmed and turned her face aside, while she furtively tried to draw her hand away from his, but Father Lawrence held on tenaciously, persisting: “Be honest with me, my daughter. Once you have disclosed the secrets you have hidden in your mind because they trouble you, they will no longer be a source of distress to you.”
“Y—yes, Y—Your Reverence,” Hortense Bernard stammered, more and more embarrassed. “It—it wasn't only taking me from behind that—that my husband objected you, you see.”
“But I do not see at all, my daughter. Be more explicit!”
“Oh, d—dear! It—it is so difficult for me to speak of such delicate things to—to a man of the cl—cloth, Your Reverence.”
“But that is precisely why it will be helpful to you to reveal your problems, my daughter, since men of my ilk are more worldly and comprehend better the complex difficulties which beset the uninformed. Speak, I pray you!”
“I—I wished him to—to put his c—cock into the other place, Y—Your Reverence.”
“The other place,” Father Lawrence feigned ignorance of what the comely widow meant. “Why do you not show me, for actual illustration is always enlightening. Take off your skirt, and indicate to me this other place to which you allude.”
By this time, his cock had attained its full girth and length, was even more formidably rigid before her dilated, humid eyes. Hortense Bernard drew a long quivering breath, and then, eyes downcast, tremblingly unhooked her skirt and let it fall about her trim ankles. It was at once apparent that she wore nothing under the skirt, for the soft curves of her carnation-skinned belly appeared, marked by a wide and shallow navel-niche, and then below a thicket of light brown curls which flourished most luxuriantly over the plump aperture of her cunt. Before he could exclaim upon this revelation, she had turned her back, and, putting a quivering forefinger towards the narrow, shadowy groove which separated two magnificently ripe, upstanding round hemispheres, whispered, “It—it was in here, Y— Your Reverence, I—I wished Gervaise to put his—his th—thing. But he said it was wickedness to do so. I entreated him to do so as a mark of his husbandly affection, for I was always willing, nay, eager, for him to possess me the regular way. Yet he rebuked me whenever I implored that boon.”
The English ecclesiastic's eyes blazed with avid concupiscence at the sight of those bewitchingly jutting bottom globes, and promptly extended a hand to stroke and caress their velvety rotundities. Hortense Bernard started, and looked round with widened eyes at this gentle caress; in an access of false modesty, doubtless, she had clapped her other hand over her furry slit. “He was wrong to deny you what you sought, my daughter,” he at last pronounced in a voice that was hoarse and unsteady, “particularly since you did not shirk your expected marital duties. You sought only a special mark of affection, yet he pitilessly denied you.”
“Yes, that is true, Your Reverence,” the beautiful half-naked widow sniffed.
“Do you still harbor these desires, my child? Do you still long to be buggered?”
Hortense Bernard closed her eyes, and a long voluptuous shiver rippled down her back as she faintly avowed, “Y—yes, Y—Your R—Reverence.”
“Then I will offer myself to accommodate your needs, my child. Unless, to be sure, my offer offends you?”
“Oh no!” the brown-haired widow breathed, glancing down again at his mighty cock, and the tip of her pink tongue delicately fringed the corners of her quivering lips by way of excited expectation of this unforeseen boon granted by her new boarder, whose estate as spiritual dignitary did her humble abode such honor.
“Then I must prepare the terrain at first. Do you lie across my lap, my daughter,” he instructed. As soon as she had blushingly complied, he circled her waist with his left arm, raised his right hand and dealt her a sonorous slap on the ripe summit of one of her velvety naked bottom-cheeks which left a bright pink outline of his chastening palm.
“Ohh!” she gasped, glancing fearfully back, doubtless wondering how this interlude was to lead her to the Sodomitic bliss she had so long yearned for.
“Do not move, my daughter,” he bade her, applying a lusty second slap on the other nether globe which left an even brighter mark on her fair soft skin, “a little spanking will warm your backside and arouse your blood and muscular tone, thereby preparing you for what would otherwise be a somewhat trying ordeal.”
Thus edified, Hortense Bernard closed her eyes and clenched her little fists, submitting herself to this “preparation.” Her naked loins wriggled lasciviously over Father Lawrence's frenziedly bulging crotch, no doubt taxing his own herculean powers of self-control to the very utmost, but manfully he continued despite this tantalizing distraction to apply vigorous slaps all over the twin hemispheres of her succulent rump till it was scarlet and she was sobbing and wriggling and kicking in the most exciting way.
“Now I think we may proceed to the gratification of your secret desires, my daughter,” he remarked in a thick voice that shook with lust.
“Do you remove your blouse and get upon the bed on all fours, your legs well spread apart to ease the penetration.”
Slowly the young widow clambered up from his lap, and, after first rubbing her flaming bare bottom energetically, divested herself of her blouse and was naked as the day of her birth. Getting onto the bed, head bowed, palms bearing down on the counterpane, knees widely straddled, she presented him with the mouthwatering spectacle of her furiously inflamed backside. By contrast, her untouched thighs and calves gleamed with a soft carnation sheen that was exquisite to behold.
He rose, too, and removed his drawers, giving his massive cock free rein. For a lingering moment, he squeezed and massaged her scarlet buttocks with appraising fingers, while the beautiful naked widow whimpered and wriggled, till at last he pried open those Callyphygian hillocks and exposed the crinkly little rosebud of her arsehole. The dainty lips contracted with becoming modesty, which only served to inflame Father Lawrence the more, judging by the throbbing movements of his swollen cock. Maintaining the globes yawned apart with thumb and median finger of his left hand, he approached his right forefinger to the soft rosette and caressed it a bit, while Hortense Bernard moaned and sighed incoherently, then gently intruded just the tip within the narrow lobbyway of that furtive little cleft dedicated to the perversities of Sodom.
“Ohh, Your Reverence!” she breathed, her hips jerking fitfully as the result of this preliminary probing.
“Patience, my daughter,” he admonished. “I have the wherewithal to satisfy your longings, and I ask only
