thousands.”
How graphically and yet how euphemistically the good Father described his visions! I was indebted to him for furnishing me eyes where mine could not see through metal. Yet the position which Louisette and Denise were taking was, contrary to his laudatory praise, hardly original, though it was certainly charming. It was known as soixante-neuf, and so I had the setting delineated for me to my imagination's content: Louisette knelt astride Denise with her face peering at the silky curls of the latter's pussy, while from below Denise gazed up into the sweet confines of Louisette's cunthole.
I heard more giggles and a stifled, “Ma foi, that tickles – ooooh, Denise, you naughty girl, attend to the matter at hand and do not distract me so or I cannot count correctly what I am trying to tally.”
“Would it not be better, mon Pere,” Marisia now sweetly queried, “if I did not descend from this perilous perch so high above the floor and came down on your level so that you might assist me in my own reckoning?”
Father Lawrence gave a soft little groan, by which I knew his own temptation of St. Anthony was commencing in the most inflammatory way.
Finally he responded, “Very well, my daughter, since you asked for my aid and I am your guardian, I will assist you. I will sit down here atop this sturdy stool, for the vessel now keeps an even keel thanks to my prayers and the good seamanship of our worthy captain. Do remove your nightshift and sit upon my lap with your legs well spread and your arms about my neck so that I may apply myself to the task and have a clear view of the proceedings.”
I heard Marisia now scramble down from the bunk, then the soft rustle as she doffed her only veil, whereupon Father Lawrence sucked in his breath to announce that the temptation was even more exacerbating than before. Then came the padding of bare dainty little feet upon the cabin floor and presently the gasp and the squeal by which Marisia seated herself upon her guardian's lap in her deliriously naked state. “There, mon Pere,” she blithely announced, “I am ready for the tallying.”
“You see, my dear daughter,” he explained, “you are younger than either Louisette or Denise, and hence you must not be disappointed if the tally that I make now does not equal theirs. That, my child, is attributable to nature. Now hold tightly, and stop breathing in my ear and nibbling at the lobe of it, or I shall not be able to finish until dawn, which would deprive you of your sleep.”
“Oh, mon Pere,” she whispered passionately, “I would not care if it took until we reached the Seminary so long as you keep tickling me with your fingers that way. Oooooh, aaaahhh, it is so delicious! Hurry and complete the tally if you will, mon Pere, so that the time will come soon that you will be the one to take my maiden- flower!”
His breath was quick and panting, clearly audible to me and no wonder! Had I not seen Marisia and Laurette naked upon the bed of the old patron and with both charming damsels seeking to empower that incompetent old graybeard to possess his rightfully intended bride, yet to scant avail? Nubile though Marisia was and just past thirteen and a half years to her own chronological tally, she would have no trouble in empowering Father Lawrence – indeed, had I been then out of the locket, I would have been sure to behold that monstrous staff, or pole, or whatever he preferred to call it, was fully attentive to the naked satiny gaping thighs of his lovely ward.
“Hold still, my daughter!” he hoarsely reproved her now as she must have wriggled or hugged him or applied a teasing little kiss or flick of her tongue. “There is a time for everything in this life, and this is not yet the time for your seductiveness. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… thirty-one and two and three all in a cluster, thirty-four and five and six and seven and eight – oh, what a silken sprig rises here at the lower part of your virgin cunny, my dear Marisia. Thirty-nine and forty… and one and two and three… then four all solitary as if abandoned by its silken sisters – upon my word, my daughter, you are more abundantly fleeced than I had remembered. But perhaps it is the warmth and moisture of this area, which, like a garden, nurtures the sweet plants that grow about the oasis of pleasure itself. And since I know you to be of a passionate and generous nature, my daughter, it is, upon second reflection, not surprising at all that nature has so bounteously provided you… to continue, we have now reached fifty-nine, sixty and one and two and three – oh, my lovely daughter, do not squirm your bottom so tantalizingly over my lap, or I cannot answer for the consequences.” And on he went, steeling himself against the flirtatious and licentious coquetry of raven-haired Marisia, who, I was convinced, used every trick in her juvenile power to get him to take her maidenhead.
After what I should judge was half an hour later, he announced the total in a voice that trembled and was faint, no doubt from his absorption with the methodicity of his task: “I make it one-hundred eighty-seven hairs, my daughter, which would include some nineteen tiny follicles beginning to nestle along the ambery and sinuous crevice leading from your virgin cunny to the sweet pink rosette between your saucy buttocks. Now give me a kiss to thank me for my labors, and then put on your nightshift and go back to your bed.”
“But, mon Pere,” Marisia complained in a woeful tone, “I know I shall not sleep, for while you were counting my pussyhairs, my bare-bottom felt your big hard prick rub it constantly. Besides that, as you must know, the tickling of your fingers as you drew one pussyhair away from another in order to tally accurately caused me such a tickling and a heating in my little con that I am burning up as with fever! Will you not dispatch me so that I may sleep and dream of the time when we shall be together in the Seminary, mon Pere?”
“Was ever a father so plagued by so demanding a daughter?” he playfully quipped. “Well, since nature's best soporific is the sweet exhaustion after a bout of fucking, that would be the ideal palliative for your tautened nerves, my daughter. But since we are both agreed that I shall not take prime advantage over my worthier colleagues, I shall have to content you with a little sucking. In turn, you must do the same for me, for if your bottom has complained of the rudeness of my prick, it is simply because your sauciness has brought that hardness all about.”
“Oh I will gladly do that for you, mon Pere,” Marisia volunteered.
“Then let me carry you to this oaken chest upon which you may lie in all security and comfort and accessibility,” he suggested. He took hold of her and lifted her and must have carried her to the chest, for she giggled and squealed and kissed him noisily, saying, “I would so much rather feel your great prick tallying for itself in the place you have made so hot and eager, mon Pere.”
“Get thee behind me, Satan's daughter,” he hoarsely parried. “It is not seemly for a maiden to be too greedy, but far better to be grateful for what pleasures are granted from hour to hour in this transient life of ours! I shall gamahuch you, Marisia, while you french me, so that in a sense you, a forsaken orphan, will feel a kinship with Denise and Louisette who are already about to end their tallying and perform that same ceremony which you French damsels call soixante-neuf.”
I heard some squirmings and sighings then as Marisia was laid upon the chest on her back and adjusted herself to a more comfortable posture in which to show her gratitude for those favors being provided at the moment. Then she cried out with astonished delight, “Oh it is so big and red, it is on fire, I can never take it all into my mouth!”
“If that be true, how then could you expect to take it in your virgin cunt?” he chuckled. His next words sounded muffled and lower, meaning that he had pressed his lips against the tender orifice whose hirsute camouflage he had already examined.
“I will try my best,” Marisia promised.
“The angels themselves could do no more, my daughter. Aah – yes, gently and softly, do not be too greedy at first, lest you repent of your temptations! Ohhh, how your soft lips cling and burn the tip of my aching cock! Oh, you would dare to use your tongue to tempt me to folly, would you, my daughter? Then I must retaliate in kind – there, take that, and that, in that squirming little pussy of yours – why, it is already moist and tinged with a milky liqueur!”
“I could not help it, mon Pere,” Marisia gasped, “but when you were counting my pussyhairs, I felt so squirmy in my little con that it was all I could do to keep from crying out when something melted inside me.”
“That was your come, my daughter. Ohhh, you sweet vixen, you will soon pluck from me the little seed I have left!”
He was now not quite so boastful of his amorous exploits as he had been in the morning, and I found him much more admirable when he was not a braggart like the illustrious Casanova who, if you were to believe his memoirs, had fucked every beautiful peasant girl and widow and noble woman in all Europe during the short span of his busy lifetime. Yet, having done my own tallying on him, during the past forty-eight hours, I knew that he
