decreed.
They gave her all of three minutes, I should judge, before they left the patron's bedroom and went to Laurette's door. Pere Mourier knocked twice, very softly. Laurette, doubtless supposing it was Victorine, hastened to open the door, and then recoiled with a stifled little cry of terror. What a bewitching picture she made, for she was clad only in her drawers and camisole. She had doused her lovely face with cold water to efface the tears of repugnance which this interlude with her distasteful husband had caused her. And she was ravishingly desirable, those two long golden braids hanging down to her waist, her round bubbies tumultuously heaving in her apprehension at beholding her father confessor and his English colleague.
“What—what are you doing here, mon pere?” she gasped as Father Lawrence deftly closed the door behind him and drew the bolt…
Pere Mourier shook a fat, admonishing finger at her. “Oh, my poor child, I have come in the nick of time to dissuade you from committing the most adulterous wickedness.”
“I—I do not understand what you are saying, mon pere,” Laurette stammered, turning scarlet with sweet confusion.
“And now you commit another sin, that of lying to your good father-confessor,” the obese holy man rebuked her in a pompous voice. “I had asked good Father Lawrence to come with me on making my rounds of the parish this evening, and when we called here, the good Victorine had just received a message from a little boy whom this vaurien Pierre Larrieu had sent with this infamous summons to a sinful rendezvous. Thank heaven she had the presence of mind and the loyalty to her dear master to inform me of this message, or even now you might be in that wretch's arms. Oh, my daughter, you have put your feet upon the pathway to perdition. And look—you bedeck yourself in your flimsiest undergarments to entice this forbidden lover to the body which belongs solely to the worthy Claude Villiers.”
“Oh, mon pere, I cannot help it,” Laurette sobbed. “If you only knew how horrible it is for me to have to lie abed with that vile old man! It is true that my Pierre is a bastard and so cannot wed me, yet I would rather be his harlot and lie with him in the fields than suffer the indignities which M'sieu Villiers subjects me to in the guise of wedlock. What am I to do, mon pere?”
And with this, the lovely girl flung herself down on her knees and clasped her hands and held them up to the obese French holy man, as the tears rivuleted down her flushed soft cheeks.
“I will tell you this, my daughter,” thundered Pere Mourier, “if you take one step further out of this room to visit that rogue, I will excommunicate you from Mother Church. Not only now, but at any other time hereafter. Besides which, I intend to tell the patron how you are ready to cuckold him only a few moments after he had sought with all his devotion and gentleness to possess you.”
“Oh, oh, no, you would not tell him that! Oh, I would die of shame! And you must not curse my darling Pierre, he is honest and good and kind, and his only sin is in loving me. Please, Pere Mourier, forgive him, and forgive me too.”
She looked up at him, her eyes blinded with tears, and she clasped his fat thighs with her beautiful arms in the most exquisite attitude of supplication. The voluptuous effect of such beauty at bay was instantly visible as Pere Mourier's massive cock jabbed out the thin stuff of his cassock.
“There is perhaps a way, my daughter,” he said hoarsely, with an imperceptible little glance at the smiling Father Lawrence who stood behind the kneeling girl, “whereby you can make your penance and yet save your marriage, without committing this deadly sin with the young scoundrel.”
“Tell me how, mon pere! I will do anything you ask,” Laurette avowed.
“Having made much study of the ebullient nature of male and female,” the fat French priest sententiously began, “I think I can evaluate your case astutely, my poor benighted daughter. The holy estate of matrimony is surely to be sought for one of your lowly status, true enough. But in your particular instance, since I have seen with mine own eyes how lasciviously inclined your secret nature is—do not try to deny it, my child, for you recall that I beheld you and this Pierre Larrieu about to commit adultery—my belief is that once you have overcome your vapours and timidities natural to your physical condition of virginity, you will no longer dread the legal contact with your illustrious husband. Therefore, once we remove these vapours and these timidities, my dear child, you will be amazed at how little inclination you have to seeking out this young wretch for your illicit pleasures, because you will be edified sufficiently to partake of them naturally and honorably with your own husband. Tell me this quickly—has he yet taken your virginity?”
“Oh, no, no,” Laurette gasped and hid her blushing tear-stained face in the folds of the fat priest's cassock.
“Then this verifies my supposition and my theory, my dear child,” Pere Mourier resumed. “Inwardly, your lascivious desires make you yearn for coition, while at the same moment your virginal hymen imposes upon you an abhorrence and a frigidity which defeat your nature. Once removed the latter, and the former may be then fully channeled towards the greater pleasure of a lawful consort. And thereby lies the penance which I shall set you here and now, my sweet Laurette.”
She looked up at him wide-eyed, not quite understanding his sly and cunning aim. “Wh—what must I do, then, mon pere?”
“Prepare to yield your maidenhead to me, your father confessor, who has known you since you were a tender child. I will thus be your devout initiator, my charming child, and educate you towards your proper conjugal duties.”
“Oh! you—you cannot mean -” Laurette stammered as she rose to her feet and shrank back, eyes huge with stupefaction.
“You misunderstand me, my daughter,” Pere Mourier suavely interposed. “I do not mean to take you in lust as would this unworthy Pierre. No, my daughter, it will be an act of edification, simply that and nothing more. And I absolve you from any sin, since I have prevented you from your commission of adultery this night. Is that not so, Father Lawrence?”
“He speaks the truth, Laurette,” the English ecclesiast collaborated his French colleague.
The lovely Laurette did not know what face to put upon this situation, as she could not still believe her ears. But the fat priest lost no time in acquainting her with his intention, since he at once doffed his hat and cassock and stood in all his hairy nakedness, his massive cock already savagely distended. “Nature has better endowed me, my child, than even your forbidden lover,” he declared. “Now to begin your penance, remove the camisole and drawers and place yourself in repose upon your bed. I will attend you, and zealously seek to instruct you in these duties in which you have been so remiss with your loyal loving husband.”
“Oh, mon pere, you aren't going to—oh, surely, you don't mean to do this to me?” Laurette gasped incredulously.
“It is up to you, my child. If you persist in shirking your obligations, if you are still drawn towards this adulterous rogue, then your Pierre is excommunicate, and your husband shall be told why. Moreover, because of your wicked obstinacy, I shall regrettably be compelled to scourge you to chasten your wicked spirit and suppress your heinous nature. You have your choice, Laurette.”
“Oh, I would die before I let you hurt my poor Pierre, and I could not bear to have the patron know my loathing of him,” Laurette wrung her hands in her dilemma. “But at least, to spare me greater shame, do ask Father Lawrence not witness what you intend to do.”
“But he is here, my daughter, exactly to insure to you that mine is not an act of lust, but only that of simple instruction,” was the fat priest's sly response.
Seeing that she was well trapped, judging that the sacrifice of her maidenhead to her own father confessor would be less onerous for her and Pierre than the alternative, Laurette, softly weeping, hesitantly removed her camisole and then at last tugged down her drawers and stepped out of them. Both priests uttered gasps of admiration at the gleaming white, naked statuary of her supple young body. Her instinctive maidenly modesty still strong, Laurette clapped both hands to her cunny and bowed her head.
“You have done well, my daughter,” Pere Mourier declared, his voice thick with impatient passion, “and this shows good faith. Now accede to my other order, which is to lay yourself down upon your bed and make ready for me, your sanctified initiator.”
Laurette reluctantly obeyed. Upon her back, a hand over her eyes, her other little hand clutched into a tight fist at one naked luscious haunch, she awaited her perilous moment. His eyes gleaming with avaricious concupiscence, the fat, hairy churchman clambered on to the bed and knelt beside the shivering, naked penitent.
