realizing that the presence of the precocious girl in a household where now strapping, handsome young Pierre Larrieu would be lord and master might be highly precarious to her own hopes for marital fidelity with her adored spouse, gave her leave.
Now that I knew the end of the story, I was drowsy. I had chosen my napping place in the golden tendrils of Laurette's sweet cunt curls. And that was why I was not aware of Laurette's telling her niece that she wished to give her a parting remembrance of their joys together. Taking a pair of dainty scissors, Laurette cut off some of those golden ringlets and encased them in a little locket with a golden chain, which she hung about the ivory neck of her niece. And so, when I woke, I found myself, oh horror, imprisoned in that locket!
And I heard the resonant, mellow voice of Father Lawrence close by, telling Marisia that they would arrive in London a few days hence, where she would be initiated as a novice, he being her sponsor. That was why she had forsaken her memories of Everard; competent though that distant youth might be—and I never had the chance to conjecture—Marisia had already decided that the mighty cock of her newfound protector could not easily be surpassed. And as she whisperingly confided to him, replying to his statement, “Oh, Your Reverence, I ask only one boon, that before I am made novice, you, all by yourself, will initiate me with your great, wonderful prick, and show me truly what fucking really is!”
What irony! I, the imaginative, sophisticated Flea who had vowed never to see Bella and Julia and those licentious men of the cloth, was now on my way back to their very lair, entrapped in the cunnycurls of the young virgin I had befriended. Was that to be my reward?
I told myself philosophically that all was not forever hopeless. A Flea can live a long time without nourishment. I was sure that tender Marisia would at some time or another open her locket to recall those happy hours with her golden haired young aunt. Then I might escape and try my fortunes in some other still more distant land.
Yet, what if she does not open the locket? What if, just as at this very moment when I hear the soft sloshing of tongue within mouth, and mouth greedily accepting tongue, and the hoarse whispers and the soft giggles of that novice-to-be Laurette? What then?
