His fat, hairy hands roamed leisurely over her smooth belly, her panting teaties, the valley between them, her tender sides, the slopes of her delicious hips. I knew I could not save Laurette from both these lusty suitors, and I confess I was impelled by curiosity to witness precisely how the tender maiden would react when the destructive breach was made against her cherished virgin's seal. Perching on the other side of the pillow on which her golden head now reposed, I watched the procedure of the French clergyman.
For all his greedy desire, he did not hasten, for which I gave him credit. His hands caressed the shivering thighs and flanks and belly and breasts of the naked virgin, till he was shivering too. She kept her arm tightly thrust over her lovely blue eyes to hide the sight, and I will grant that if Claude Villiers was unappetizing, Pere Mourier could not be considered a tastier bridegroom save only in one respect: his throbbing, swollen cock. And yet, since it was by this sole part of his anatomy that Laurette was to be “edified,” it did not really matter that he was hairy, fat and ugly of visage.
Gently he made Laurette part her thighs, and while his fat right hand smoothed and stroked her inner thigh, his left forefinger very delicately tangled amid the golden lovecurls of her slit and tickled the plump corals of her cunny. Her body was tense and quivering in an attitude of defense, yet when his fingertip at last brushed the soft hidden labia of her virgin cunt, she uttered a tremulous little gasp, and unconsciously arched up her loins and belly as if eager to taste more of this exquisite friction which was attuning her. Pere Mourier shot a triumphant glance at Father Lawrence, as much as to say, “Did I not tell you she was of lascivious nature?” and accelerated his tickling. The pad of his forefinger now began to rub in a slow circular movement round and round the dainty little cleft. Presently, the golden lovecurls seemed to become ruffled, and there peeped through the sweet pink petals of that flower which Monsieur Claude Villiers had longed to pluck and was still far from plucking. Laurette's naked breasts began to rise and fall with a spasmodic rhythm now, and her head turned restlessly from side to side, though she still hid her eyes from the florid, passion-contracted visage of her father confessor.
“Do I hurt you thus far, my daughter?” he unctuously queried.
“N—no, mon—mon pere,” Laurette quavered. Long rippling tremors now beset her rounded white thighs, traversing from the knees on along into her gaping crotch and I perceived that the rosy buds of her nipples had stiffened, and now projected out in taut, crispened firmness, a symbol of her wakening to the first true carnal evocation of all her womanly senses.
“You see, my child, how little there is to fear?” he told her, as his finger now moved to find the nodule of her virgin clitoris. Having come upon it, he delicately rimmed it back and forth, till Laurette wriggled and convulsively squirmed her hips this way and that. Little inarticulate sighs and gasps exuded from her parted lips. Her toes twisted and crispened, and the muscles of her lovely white calves flexed and shuddered as the amorous enervation began to seethe through every nerve and sinew of the luscious naked body.
By this time, I could see the enchanting pink crevice formed by the two dainty, plump, parted lips, like a flower opening its petals to the sun. His titillations had found the key to Laurette's strongbox of desire, and the suspicious moisture about those adorable labia proved that the astute science of this licentious holy man had rendered the tender virgin far more tumescent than even Pierre Larrieu had been able to do out there on the grassy knoll.
“Oh, what a delicious pink sweet soft cunt!” he breathed in rapturous admiration. “See, Father Lawrence, how it longs to be liberated of that obstreperous barrier which alone denies our sweet Laurette the boon of marital consummation! Courage, my daughter, the moment is not far off when the veil of mystery shall be lifted from your sweet blue eyes and you shall behold the glory of fleshy union. And imbued with this newly acquired fervor which I shall teach you, you can then welcome your worthy husband to your bed with eager arms and readied thighs!”
Now with his thumbs and forefingers Pere Mourier pinched apart the sweet pink lips of Laurette's maiden grotto, and bowing his head, applied a loud and smacking kiss upon her very core. She arched herself, deliciously and wantonly, though I am certain it was done out of her subconscious nature, just as the good father had predicted. Now I heard the sloshing of his tongue as he darted it deep within her chalice, and Laurette uttered a shrill cry nigh unto ecstasy, as she dug her hands into the sheets of her bed, her widely opened eyes staring down at him, her nostrils dilating and shrinking tempestuously.
“Oh, mon pere, what are you doing to me! Oh oh, I can't bear it, I shall faint, you are driving me wild, mon pere!” she babbled.
“Yes, my daughter, now you are ready for your initiation. I feel your sweet little clit throbbing like an engine just inside the soft mouth of your virgin cunny,” Pere Mourier tersely exclaimed. “Your belly quivers and jerks, and your skin is warm and moist with longing. Prepare yourself, my daughter, for the moment of consummation.”
With this, still keeping her lips well-pried apart, he edged the taut head of his bludgeon just inside them and then gave a little push to insure the forward trying on towards the stubborn barrier. Laurette moaned, turned her face to one side, closed her eyes, but the heaving of her flinty-tipped bubbies and the spasmodic tensions which raced along her yawning thighs betrayed her mounting impatience to learn at last the way of a man with a maid.
He gave another thrust, and Laurette winced and uttered a shrill little, “Aahh, it hurts me, mon pere!”
“That is the proof of your chastity, my daughter. Courage, now, for the hurt will soon be over then your state of consummation will bring you towards that bliss which you have so long sought.”
Now, carefully letting himself down upon her, mashing her sweet, soft belly with his own fat paunch, his hands gliding under her backside to grip the plump satiny rounds and thus steer himself towards the achievement of her “edification,” Pere Mourier set his teeth and shoved forward with a mighty lunge. Laurette's body writhed and stiffened; her hands at once clenched into little fists and began to hammer at his naked back, and her knees rose up on either side of him, yawned hugely apart, then clashed together at him in the wildest protest. At the same time, a shrill squeal like that of a sacrificed animal burst from her throat, but the deed was done.
“Ah, I am in her to my balls, Father Lawrence,” Pere Mourier exulted. “How tight the little darling is! I can feel the walls of her womb kiss and clutch my cock ever so lovingly. Oh, what delight, what rapture! Never in all my days have I fucked so sweet, so young, so tasty a morsel; never before have I felt the grip of so tight a sheath as Laurette's!”
She had twisted her face to one side, and her fist still futilely beat against massive, sweating back. But the harpoon had plunged to the depths within her, and she was pinioned by his weight and by his grip on her bottom cheeks. Well in her saddle, he now began to fuck her with slow but deep and eviscerating stabs of his massive weapon. The first few times, she sobbed and wriggled and cried out, “Aahh, arrr, oh, mon pere, mon pere, you are hurting me so!” But as he began to establish a smooth and mellifluous rhythm of back and forth and in and out, his massive ramrod drawing just to the lips of her distended crevice and then driving home till their hairs mingled, Laurette began to moan and to arch herself to meet his delving digs.
Father Lawrence watched all this, though I do not think in a scientific mood, for the black silk stuff of his cassock thrust out at a prodigious angle at the point of his loins. At moments, Laurette's glazed, supremely dilated eyes rested on him, but unseeingly, for all her life now was concentrated into the tight, unvirgined channel of her quaking cunt. Her fists no longer beat their supplicating tattoo upon her ravishers back, but instead her fingers clawed at his shoulders like talons as she met his charges. Now her naked calves clamped round his hairy thighs as she locked herself to him and resigned herself, since the forfeiture of her maidenhead was truly only the first step towards that voluptuousness which her “instruction” was meant to achieve.
“How she claws at me and clutches me, this darling vixen,” Pere Mourier hoarsely declared to his watching colleague. “Oh, how gloriously tight she is, even though I have pronged and stretched her quim with all my vigor! Each time I draw my cock back, I feel the narrow walls of her cunny clench and grip after me, as if begging me to return—there, Laurette, my passionate daughter, and there, and there too—do you feel me in your cunt, does my cock make you know what it is at last to be a woman, my daughter?”
“Aahhrr, oh yes, yes, mon pere,” Laurette moaned in her delirium, rolling her head from side to side, taking tighter hold of her ravish-er's shoulders, and reaching up to clutch her beautiful thighs around his fat, hairy bottom. “Do not spare me, let me make a good penance, mon pere! Oh, I am fainting from your thrusts, you stretch and gouge me there, oh, mon pere, hurry, hurry, I cannot bear my penance!”
“In a moment, my daughter, I will lave your hurts with good hot spunk! It is an infallible antidote for the lacerations of a maiden's hymen as you shall soon feel. Hold tight to me, my daughter, and strive with me mightily for the redemption of your womanly estate!” he panted. His fingers gouged her quaking bottom cheeks, and now he began to quicken his strokes within her deeply harpooned cunny, making Laurette gasp and jerk each time the hilt of his prong sheathed in her clinging, tight scabbard. Now her head had fallen back, her eyes rolling to the whites,
