Pere Mourier's cassock. “May I gaze upon it and touch it, Your Reverence?”
“Willingly, my daughter,” he gasped hoarsely as he removed his cassock and then his drawers. “Now then, show me precisely how it was that you and this bold youth played at fucking.”
“It was like this to start, mon pere,” Marisia explained as she sank down on her knees and took hold of the fat priest's throbbing cock. Pressing a soft kiss on the heavy meatus, she wandered her slim fingers this way and that over his balls and scrotum.
“Ohhh, the sweet child! Ahh, what delicacy, what gentleness, Father Lawrence! She is incomparable, and yet, you see, she is naive and without sin. This is not truly fucking. Now, my daughter, let me see if I can grant you a little pleasure in return. Do you lie on the floor, exactly so. And now -” he crouched over the slim, ivory skinned baggage, and, after stroking her belly and thighs, put his lips to her darling cunny. “Ahh, what sweet fragrance, like a flower of the woods,” he rhapsodized. Then his pudgy forefinger began to tickle the lips of Marisia's cunny, while the agile young beauty, grasping his hairy fat thighs, drew his huge rod down towards her mouth.
The pressure of her lips almost at once destroyed his self-control, for with a hoarse shout of bliss, Pere Mourier ejaculated huge gouts of viscous spunk, which Laurette's raven haired niece managed, to the surprise of both incredulous men, to swallow without harm.
“Oh, I must try her,” panted Father Lawrence, already naked and in ferocious readiness, as he clambered down over the naked young brunette in exactly the same way his French confrere had done, and began to suck and tongue her dainty cunt. Marisia, giggling softly at the vagaries of such superlatively adequate males, adapted herself to her new cavalier and began to suck on his massive cock head with a drawing persistence that did not take him long to disgorge the molten lava in his vitals.
“Ahh, my enchanting child,” Pere Mourier murmured rapturously, “what absorbing studies we shall have. I shall coach you in all the sciences, and that of fucking also. Come, sit on my lap and tell me what you have learned of spelling and geography and history.”
I remained a witness to an hour more of fondling, kissing and caressing. But it was not Pere Mourier's intention, this first time, to subject the darling soft-lipped virgin cunny of Marisia to the brutal assault of his mighty cock. Yet I knew the time was not far off when he would breach her maiden defenses and exact that token of her ingenuousness.
That night, as the grandfather's clock in the hallway struck midnight, Laurette stole out of the patron's mansion to meet Pierre Larrieu. She and Marisia had lulled the old fool to sleep, the two of them robbing him of what little spunk he had managed to store up since that one act of fornication I have already related, by the dint of Laurette's fondling his cock whilst Marisia licked it. In return, the patron generously pledged Marisia that he would send to her village to bring back Everard to work as a stable boy with Hercule, his overseer.
It was a moonless night, and the darkness and silence made an ideal trysting place for that grassy knoll. And this time, there was no scolding Pere Mourier to disturb the young lovers. With what joy did Laurette remove her cape, standing only in filmy nightshift which she permitted, blushingly, her handsome blond swain to remove, while she attached his own garments with impatient fingers. Then, naked the both of them, he holding her tightly against his virile loins, kissing her face and lips with a thousand ardent kisses, while her little hand fondled his massive cock, they at last achieved the unison for which they had longed. Sinking down on the grass, thighs spread to welcome him, Laurette stared fondly up at his rigid, angry-looking cock and breathed, “Oh, my darling, tonight I shall truly become a woman for the first time. My husband has had no real joy of me, for I have saved myself for your dear cock, my beloved Pierre!”
He knelt down before her, his hands stroking her thighs and belly and breasts. His forefinger at last quested in the thatch of golden cunt curls, and began to tickle the soft pink lips of her slit till she writhed and gasped to him to attend her. But this Pierre Larrieu was everything old Monsieur Claude Villiers was not. Grasping her inner thighs with gentle fingertips, Pierre tantalizingly rubbed the tip of his rigid cock against the soft twitching lips of Laurette's slit till she was almost frenzied with her lascivious need of him. And only then, slowly, inch by slow inch, did he sink his mighty blade between those greedily clutching soft pink labia, till at last their hairs merged and her arms clutched him savagely and her mouth glued to his as, masterfully, he began to arch and sink upon her in the inexorable, wonderfully exciting rhythm of a prolonged fuck.
Thrice they thus paid their tributes to Venus and Priapus while I watched over their happy beatitudes, ready to bite Pierre on the leg to warn him should some rude interloper like Pere Mourier interrupt such passionate transports. But none did, and at last they parted with the sweetest of kisses and pledges to meet again, as I was sure they would.
Yet even I could not have predicted how soon that next meeting was to be, for when Victorine timidly knocked at the old patron's bedchamber the next morning to ask if he wished his breakfast brought in on a tray, she found him lying there cold and lifeless, a beatific smile on his dry thin lips. The seizure of which Marisia had spoken had taken place; yet at least he had died a happy death, drawn to climax by young bride and younger niece, believing to the very end that charming Laurette had overcome her aversion to him and come to love him for his own sake. And who is not to say that illusion can sometimes be stronger than reality?
Two days later, after the funeral, Pere Mourier attended the Widow Laurette Villiers, who was most becomingly attired in a simple black cotton dress, though she was now a wealthy and secure widow who need never again worry about a crust of bread or a roof over her head. For in his will, the patron had left everything to her, save a thousand francs for Victorine.
“How can I console you in your great bereavement, Madame Villiers?” the fat French clergyman unctuously queried.
“Is it true, mon pere, that I am actually the owner of this house and all the vineyards of Languecuisse?”
“It is true, my daughter.”
“And I am free to marry again, for you yourself have always told me it is better to marry than to burn.”
“That also is true, my daughter.”
“Then I wish you to announce the banns between myself and Pierre Larrieu—after a proper interval of mourning, to be sure.”
“Oh, my daughter, this is madness!”
“Why so? Is he not the same flesh as my adored, lamented husband? Am I not lonely and in need of a strong young husband, that I may produce the heirs M'sieu Villiers so had his heart set upon?”
“Yes, but -”
“And since I have fallen heir to all this unexpected wealth, mon pere, it is my wish to make free gift unto your parish of the little vineyard over which my dear father had tenancy. My parents will come to live with me in this big house. Oh yes, and the rental on their cottage shall also be turned over for your charities, mon pere.”
“My daughter, I cannot bless you enough. Very well, you shall have your way. Perhaps it was thus intended.” Pere Mourier kissed Laurette who then knelt to receive his blessing.
But once outside, Father Lawrence caught him by the wrist: “A word with you, my confrere. I must go back to the seminary in England in a few days. Would it not be wise to entrust to me the care of tender Marisia?”
“Why so?”
“Because the Widow Bernard, having grown used to a man about the house, longs to make confessional with you, Pere Mourier. And you will have Desiree into the bargain. I go back a lonely man, without having contrived to save a single soul in all my time in France.”
Pere Mourier frowned, considering: “There is merit in what you say, mon confrere. But I should grieve over the loss of that delicious, forward minx.”
“True, and I know with what vigilance you seek to guard the souls of the young. Yet take heart. In our seminary, we have many lovely young novices, even more adept and ardent than the charming Marisia. I have long felt that I should induce the Father Superior to send some of these well edified daughters to another country, where they may expand their education. And I will see to it that several of them are sent to the parish school of Languecuisse.”
“On that case, take her and with my blessing. Ah, Pere Mourier exhaled a nostalgic sigh, “how I shall miss the minx! Those soft lips, that nimble tongue, that eagerness to learn which characterizes her.”
“She will return to you even better edified, I promise,” smilingly retorted the English ecclesiast.
And thus it was decided. On the very next evening, Laurette said a tender au revoir to her raven haired young niece, who, when Father Lawrence had presented himself to ask to take her back to the seminary of St. Thaddeus as novice, had herself enthusiastically pleaded with her aunt to let this happen. And Laurette, perhaps wisely
