and her nostrils opened and closed incessantly. Her teeth chattered, and her red lips were moist and parted and trembling. A tumult raged within her loins, and now the moment had come to slake it. Drawing a deep breath, Pere Mourier flung himself once more to the charge, his hairs grinding against Laurette's golden cunny curls. Then his body shook and vibrated as he reached his climax. Laurette uttered raucous cry as she felt the hot deluge gush along her distended love-canal. Yet he had not brought her to climax, for I have observed that a virgin rarely achieves her paroxysm after an initial pronging, since not only the twinges of her shattered maidenhead but also the long enforced continence which her parents had imposed upon her most naturally prevent her ardent temperament from erotic expansion in this wise.
He withdrew his bloody blade, and Father Lawrence solicitously handed him a cloth whereby to efface the irrefutable evidence of Laurette's chastity. The English ecclesiastic had procured a ewer of water, and now dampened another cloth and sponged Laurette's sweating forehead and cheeks, the while avidly staring at her sprawled nakedness.
“Is—is my penance over now?” Laurette murmured faintly. Her knees were uparched, and had come together, but her bubbies still rose and fell with erotic fervor. Pere Mourier uttered a sigh of satiation. “I shall ask my colleague to pronounce the last portion of your penance, my child,” he said as he seated himself on a chair and taking another of the dampened cloths, mopped his own perspiring brow and chest with it.
“Oh, do so, I implore you, mon pere,” Laurette breathed, letting her legs down and unconsciously spreading them so that once again the access to her sweetest treasure was gaped to the gleaming eyes of the English ecclesiast. “I have never felt such sensations, I shall swoon, I know I shall, and yet there is still torment within me.”
“Then it is I who shall help you overcome that torment, my child,” Father Lawrence stoutly declared as he drew off his cassock and joined her, virile and naked and sinewy, upon the rumpled bed. Turning her gently onto her side to face him, he kissed her lips tenderly, while his left hand stroked her tremoring bare bottom. Laurette uttered a little sigh and closed her eyes and shivered, but did not draw from him. Yet when his massive cock prodded against her tender belly she gasped and glanced down, then blushingly whispered, “Oh, surely that is not part of my penance too, Your Reverence? It will surely never go inside me now!”
“But quite the contrary, my daughter, since my confrere has already prepared the terrain so well. You will see how you accommodate yourself to its dimensions. Now clasp me tightly with your white arms and kiss me soundly, while we say our orisons together to make you a good and loving wife!”
Laurette shiveringly and trustingly complied, and Father Lawrence began to cup and squeeze her bubbies with his right hand, while he slyly rubbed the tip of his massive cock along her abdomen and thence to the furry niche of her just deflowered cunny. She wriggled and squirmed against him, her arms tightly locked around his shoulders, giving him back kiss for affectionate kiss, but keeping her eyes modestly closed as befitted so gentle a maiden newly come upon her wifely state.
“I would not compel you against your will, my daughter,” he said gently. “So with your little hand, you yourself guide this eager pilgrim into your soft bower. You shall yourself prescribe the extent to which it shall go wandering!”
Lulled by his kindly guidance, and her senses already inflamed by the good work of her initiator, Pere Mourier, Laurette shyly took hold of the good father's massive cockhead. Tentatively, she rubbed it very lightly against the gaping pink lips of her love-slit, gasping and wincing at the faint twinges which recalled to her the taking of her chastity. Meanwhile, his left hand roved all over her bottom, and finally his forefinger slid down the sinuous, ambery cleft which separated those succulent hemispheres till he had found the dainty, crinkily fissure of her anus. He began to prod the lips very lightly, and Laurette moaned with sexual fever as this caress wakened all her innately libidinous tendencies. At last, with a gasp, she fitted the head of his cock between her soft cunny lips, and then frantically locked her arms about his shoulders and clung to him in trusting confidence that he would do the rest.
Slowly, Father Lawrence edged his blade along the pathway already hollowed out for him by his French colleague. Laurette caught her breath as she felt his turgid ramrod sink along the quivering volutes of her love- channel. Her right thigh rose to clamp over his leg as she arched herself to him. At the same moment, his fingertip prodded inside the clenching lips of her bumhole; thus impelled, Laurette glued her mouth to his, and, her naked bubbies flattening his surging chest, totally surrendered herself. With a single massive thrust, he dug inside of her to his balls, silencing her long-drawn moan of ecstasy with a furiously impassioned kiss.
Then he began to fuck the beautiful, golden haired maiden—or strictly speaking, young bride, for to be accurate, it should be said that she still retained two of her virginities—and Laurette feverishly responded. Pere Mourier looked on with jaundiced eye. He could perhaps content himself with the thought he had awakened all this exquisite response, but, alas, his confrere would profit therefrom. Still, he managed a smile of consolation at the notion that there would be other penances and other expiations whereby once again he could savoringly enjoy the golden haired, white-skinned loveliness of this naked beauty.
Now Father Lawrence slid his right forefinger down between their bodies and attacked her already turgid clitoris. Artfully he rubbed and rolled the little button, whilst his other forefinger foraged slowly and deeply inside her bottomhole. Synchronizing this dual manipulation with his own regular digs and withdrawals, he soon brought Laurette to moaning ecstasy, and at last, digging her fingernails into his sides, she threw back her head and cried out in wordless rapture as she felt his violent gush inundate her. And by the quaking of her own appeased, naked body against his, she flowed down her own secret tides to meet his own, and thus attained her first womanly climax.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
If tender Laurette had procured a pardon for Pierre Larrieu and at the same time a remission of her failure to show herself to be a proper, dutiful wife by the simple expedient of surrendering her maidenhead to Pere Mourier (with Father Lawrence making doubly sure it could no longer exist), she also managed to learn a good deal about her own disposition. It was, quite simply, that the removal of her hymen had at one fell swoop whisked away all her virginal vapors—oddly enough, just as fat Pere Mourier had predicted—and enabled her to discover that she could give herself up with willing heart—and eager cunt—to carnal pleasuring.
I learned as much when the good Victorine attended her in her own chamber the very next day after this memorable hymeneal martyrdom to which she had been subjected. Laurette, before her mirror, clad in only camisole and drawers and one petticoat, had decided to undo her long thick plaits and comb out her beautiful golden tresses, to form a mantling cascade which would be more feminine and womanly. For, after all, she was now truly a woman, having in the short time it took Pere Mourier to pierce her maiden seal achieved that miraculous transition.
“May I aid Madame in combing out her hair?” Victorine deferentially offered.
“No, many thanks, dear Victorine,” the golden haired bride cheerfully replied. “But you would be doing me a great service if you would tell me truly whether you received last night a message from my sweetheart Pierre Larrieu.”
Victorine flushed and looked down rather guiltily. “But of a certainty, did I not come to the patron's bedchamber to deliver such a message?” she managed.
Laurette turned to her, with a sweet smile, and put her hand over the housekeeper's: “Yes, in truth you did, but could it not have been a false message? Be honest with me, Victorine, and I shall be your loyal friend and aide in this household. I will have my husband increase your wages and do all that which will please you. For to be equally honest with you, I love my Pierre and I shall never love the master whom you wished yourself to wed.”
Victorine hesitated, for to incur the wrath of the father confessor of the village was not a prospect she relished. But Laurette, again with that marvelous intuition which all females seem to be born with, read in the housekeeper's homely face the struggle between avarice and fear, and promptly poured oil upon the fire, so to speak: “Look you, Victorine, I will give you my word of honor not to betray you to Pere Mourier, whom f~ suspect of having arranged to send you to me with such a message, so that I would hurry to my lover and fall into the lewd clutches of that cunning churchman. And, more, I will leave the field open to you with my husband, for if I ever have the opportunity, I mean to leave him and run away with my true lover. I am not and never will be your rival, dear
