your unmitigated cooperation to produce the result you have so long petitioned for.”
With this, withdrawing his forefinger, he moistened it with copious saliva, and then anointed the crinkly cleft, again causing her to shift on her knees and to weave her hips in the most lubricious manner. Next, spitting on his right forefinger and median finger a second time, he rubbed the moisture over the fulminating head of his surgingly rigid cock and thence over the tautly drawn, heavy-veined shaft. “Now we shall essay a matching of measurements, my daughter,” he told her. “Do not retreat when you first feel me make inroads into that tight chamber, or the good work will have to be repeated.”
“Oh, n—no, Y—Your Reverence,” she moaned, shuddering with erotic fervor throughout her entire naked body.
Now he put both hands to work against the quaking summits of her inflamed backside, yawned them voluminously till the dainty niche itself was lewdly distended and gaped in readiness for his adventuring, and then fitted the nozzle of his organ to the orifice, edging it forward with two or three tentative pushes, till at last the lips grudgingly gave way to superior strength and accepted just the tip of his formidable cockrod. A low groan of bliss escaped the naked patient, who bowed her head still lower and dug her fingers into the counterpane to steel herself against the brunt of his assault.
“Now to the good work,” he gasped, and thrust vigorously. Hortense Bernard, grinding her teeth, met the charge with heroic resistance as his cock slowly dug forward into the narrow channel. From what Desiree had told him, she was certainly not virgin in that crevice, but she remained virtually as tight as a virgin, a circumstance which magnificently implemented Father Lawrence's carnal joy in servicing her thus. By now, a solid inch of his rigid weapon was engulfed in that warm, narrow cavern, and visible contractions made her bottom cheeks quake and shudder against his compressing hands which continued to yawn them so their owner might not escape that which she had so boldly sought.
“Brace yourself again, my daughter. I return to the task,” he panted, and with a jerk of his loins sent his cock delving deeper still; a muffled cry exuded from her panting lips, as nearly half of the English ecclesiast's turgid lance burrowed inside her rectal canal.
He halted himself, shuddering to feel the rudely distended passageway spasmodically clutch against his imbedded organ in a series of convulsive pressures, which compelled him once again to exert the utmost self- discipline in not yet releasing the gouts of spunk.
“Am I hurting you, daughter?” he solicitously demanded, his voice trembling and hoarse with a ferocious lubricity now rampant within him.
“Ohh, Y—Your Reverence,” Hortense Bernard panted, “it is all that I can bear—no man before has ever stretched me so fairly—aaaahh, oh give me a moment to regain my strength so that I may enjoy all of you within me!”
“Right willingly, my child,” he breathed, “for I too am in need of respite. But do you bow your forehead to the counterpane; thereby you will angle up your backside all the more delightfully for my thrusting.”
The comely young widow immediately acceded to this request while her thighs began to quake and threatened to give way beneath her in near-fainting ecstasy. Father Lawrence crouched forward and extended his left hand under her to cup one of her ripe bosom globes, which he squeezed lovingly, while he groped his right forefinger towards the little lodestone of her clitoris. When he had attained the latter objective, Hortense Bernard uttered a sobbing cry of indescribable delight: “Aiiii, ohhhh, you will make me die with pleasure, Your Reverence! I swear that no one before has ever roused my vitals as you are doing now! Oh, blessed be the hour that you took it into your head to seek lodging in my poor abode!”
“Amen to that, my hospitable daughter,” Father Lawrence rapturously agreed. “And now that I have regained my full composure, prepare yourself to feel the end of my blade within that marvelously narrow chink of yours!”
“Oh, I am ready, even though it kills me,” panted the lovely victim.
Thus exhorted, the English ecclesiast ground his teeth and thrust manfully forward, while at the same time distracting his naked landlady by continuing to fondle her panting breast and to frig her turgifying clitoris. Hortense Bernard writhed lasciviously, uttering one sobbing little cry after another, yet stoically she did not succumb to his vigorous charge but thrust back her naked hips so that he might harpoon her fundament to his very hilt. Thus he felt against his belly the shuddering, wriggling globes of her opulent backside, and his face turned purple with contorted lubricity as he required all his reserve powers to withhold the deluge of love-juice which yearned to burst forth without more delay.
His forefinger speeded its perorations against her dainty nodule, and augmented Hortense Bernard's furious responses. Her fingers clawed the sheets, her face turned restlessly from side to side, and he felt the naked breast within his cupping hand jut and rasp its swollen nipple bud against his palm as evidence of her fervent attunement. Now he began to work his mighty weapon in and out of that protestingly contracting channel, and the naked young widow squirmed and twisted herself this way and that as if to disengorge herself of the spear that was decimating her bowels. But in truth this was the last thing in the world she wished for, if I am to judge by her babbled supplications and whimperingly sobbed-out cries: “Ahhhrrr! Oh, faster, harder, Your Reverence! Ahh, your finger is driving me near to swooning-oh, oh, hold it back, Your Reverence, till I am ready too! Deeper, harder into me, I implore you-oh, what bliss, what joy you bring me!”
His forefinger flattened the stiffened tidbit of her clitoris back into its dainty little cowl of pink flesh, then let it bob up in all its turgified manifestation; then he rubbed it from side to side, then pressed it down only to let it spring up again. By this sly means, he drew her ever closer towards that abyss of passion into which the hot and tight and squeezing enclaspment of her rectal walls against his imbedded ramrod threatened to plunge him at any instant. Finally, sensing from her quaking spasms and the tireless wriggling of her velvety, naked hips that she was almost at pitch, he called out to her to accompany him on this flight into the empyrean. Then, with two or three violent eviscerating digs of his bursting weapon, he flooded her bowls with a deluge of hot viscous fluid even as her own mossy nook gave down its creamy libation to his delving forefinger. In her spasm, the comely widow's arms and legs gave way beneath her and she sprawled flat and full-length upon the bed with the good father closely joined to her as they both gasped out their ecstasy. And thus the visiting English ecclesiastic took up his new domicile and at the same time consoled the secretive burning desire of the frustrated and beautiful Widow Bernard.
True to his promise, Pere Mourier read the banns of the forthcoming marriage between Laurette Boischamp and Monsieur Claude Villiers that very next Sunday. Laurette and her parents sat in one pew, and the tender golden haired virgin lowering her eyes and bowing her head in so maidenly downcast an attitude as to win favor even with her strict and upright parents. As for the worthy patron, seated in a pew opposite his bride-to-be and his intended in-laws, he stole covert glances at the luscious young virgin who was destined for his bed. He had but ten days to wait, since the wedding was to be performed on the afternoon of Wednesday week.
I promised myself to attend the lovely virgin Laurette and do my best to protect her in her hour of greatest peril. I felt a strangely compassionate sympathy for her, so soon to be linked to this scrawny, miserly and peevish old man.
In the church that same Sunday, seated in the same pew, there sat Dame Lucille and her good man Jacques Tremoulier, and Dame Margot and her faithful Guillaume Noirceau. During Pere Mourier's sermon, which had to do with St. Paul's maxim that it was better to marry than to burn, I caught the two wives stealing glances from time to time at the two sturdy husbands. I noted that Lucille and Guillaume exchanged as many meaningful glances as did Margot and Jacques; hence I concluded in the time that had elapsed since I had paid a visit to their cottage, the two couples had ably managed to trade consorts and spouses in a way that left them still amicably good neighbors and the best of friends. So I had been right in concluding that they did not need any assistance in working out their little destinies. But then, they were mature women mated to virile and broad-minded men, whereas poor Laurette had already been deprived of her young swain who should have been the one to bed her and to give warm nature what it surely required, and in compensation needs must accept the bony, doubtless impotent carcass of the patron as her legal bedfellow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
