not virgins in any of their orifices. By this time, I conjectured, both damsels must be broadly stretched in all three, and as a result of that diminishing of frictional pleasure, their devout virile guardians must by now be longing for new channels in which to course their unbridled cocks.
“How lovely,” Father Lawrence observed, “these fascinating young creatures are surely two of the original Three Graces!”
“Somewhat the worn for wear, Father Lawrence,” the Superior blandly riposted, “but they are estimably docile and good will compensates for many annoyances in this life.”
“Amen to that!” chorused the priests.
“But now, after we have supped, I will have Father Ambrose convey your wards to their new quarters, which are little cells in a passageway set off from our own bachelor and continent abodes by an iron gate to which alone I have the key,” the Superior explained.
“Prends gare,” Father Lawrence murmured to his wards, “cet homme est le plus vilain et lechereux de tous! (Beware, that man is the ugliest and most lecherous of all).
“What say you to your wards?” Father Clement's manly voice rang out.
“That of all the holy fathers here most qualified to lead the young, these damsels could not hope for a more righteous guide,” my erstwhile jailer declared amid applause, for Father Ambrose, as you who have read my first book of memoirs most surely know, was in many ways the procurer of the holy order, since it was through his machinations that fair Bella and Julia had been brought to minister unto the furious excitations of these virile men of the flesh under the austere cassock.
And so the first evening passed, and it was plain from the Superior's tone that Father Lawrence, in bringing such tasty morsels of femininity with him, had risen at a bound to a high place in the society of these goodly men who appreciated the temporal pleasures when coupled to righteousness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was late in the evening when the gathering broke up to go their individual ways, and the Father Superior had announced that it would not be till the following Monday when the three young novices should be examined as to their dispositions and education.
“This, Father Lawrence, will give you ample time to converse with them and try to inculcate in their quick minds sufficient English vocabulary to understand that when they stand before us, they must needs be docile and obedient above all else, since we are their teachers and confessors equally.”
“They will learn quickly, I promise you. But what think you of the project I spoke of to you over the cheese and ale and biscuits, my eminent Superior?”
“That of aiding the sweet sisters to find their long-lost brother Jean? It may be done, and there is gold enough to provide for the cause if they are worthy and sincere novices. I could send a courier to Barcelona, where it is said shrewd seafaring captains who do commerce with the mighty Bey could bring to him the message of petition.”
“You surely do not store your gold in the seminary, Superior?”
“What better place than in one of the cells we reserve for novices and which is only used for extreme confessional?” the Father Superior retorted. “It is under the kneeling hassock in the corner. Removing it, one has but to lift a panel in the floor, a kind of trapdoor, and there is a bag of gold and silver coins.”
“A most ingenious hiding place, Father Superior. And now, am I to have my quarters with the other priests?”
“Not for this first night. Indeed,” this with an indulgent chuckle, “since in a sense you brought us the treasure of three virginities, my estimable colleague, I shall let you guard this earthly treasure. Your presence in that cell will make the hoard all the safer.”
“I thank you for your trust and confidence. Let me but bless my wards, and then consign them to the tender mercies of Father Ambrose,” my former jailer responded. He spoke rapidly in French, the gist of which was that all three were to remember their vows, and wait till he again communicated with them.
Sweet Marisia, who wore the locket in which I nestled, was approached by the hoarse, wheedling voice of Father Ambrose, who now craftily urged her to allow him, that he might convey her to her quarters where, if she so wished, he would kneel down with her and say a prayer for her sweet dreams. I could picture his gleaming black eyes, his thick lips, his flushed brow, and almost the throbbing of his massive weapon hidden beneath the cassock!
Denise and Louisette followed, after all three had bade Father Lawrence a fond good night and pleasant dreams. When they left, there were universal sighs of admiration from the rest of the company and I heard a few epithets which indicated that the maidens had already roused the highest carnal longing amid the assemblage.
Father Lawrence was shown to that novice's cell by none other than the Father Superior himself, so I did not hear their parting conversation. But I heard Father Ambrose, as he escorted the three girls down the narrow corridor, continue to accost them with flowery words and sly intimations as to his ability, should they find sleep impossible in a new bed, to provide the most excellent of soporifics.
“Ah, now the sisters go in here – come, my children – ah, what lovely limbs, what glorious tresses,” he cajoled. The two of you – here… good. You see, my dears, we shall get along famously, despite your knowing no English. So long as you both do French, I feel my innermost ardors rising for your presence, and you will soon do me honor, as I mean to do you – was ever such fair skin, such liquid, ardent eyes!”
Denise and Louisette, apparently, were paired together in one of the cells. Now he was alone with my sweet young jailer, Marisia. “Come, dear child,” he purred, his voice thick with longing, “you are to go in here, next to your dear friends. I will keep you company for a moment, lest the dark frighten you. Oh, what glossy black tresses, what creamy white skin, what a saucy visage! Here we are, my daughter, is this not comfortable? There is your cot, with an extra woolen blanket to keep you warm. Though I know a better way when the weather is frosty. What tasty white skin, I am dying to caress it! Do not shrink from me, my daughter – I will love you, not harm you. Our order teaches love, undying and eternal, and I profess to you that even in this petty life there are innumerable ways of loving. Do you see what I have for you as a keepsake, my child? Observe – have you ever seen so mighty a cock? Behold how the head sets off from the shaft with a vitality all its own, the taking of which in itself is a commendable feat for any virgin!”
Marisia quavered, “O – I have taken a vow, my F-Father.”
“What is this? The minx speaks English?” Father Ambrose gasped, half to himself.
“Oui, a leetle,” Marisia quavered. No wonder, facing that bull of a priest, whose shaggy black cockmane would be enough to startle a pure virgin out of her wits, to say nothing of what protruded beyond it.
“Then you know what I proffer you, my daughter,” Father Ambrose pursued. “I, of all your confessors here, am most skilled in extracting a maiden's shyness. Without boasting, I will tell you that many a timid virgin has shed her blood willingly to accept the keepsake of my manhood, which womanizes her within an instant, and brings her to a state of grace. Come, let me remove your gown, my daughter!”
“Non, non, I have taken a vow, je vous dis!” Marisia insisted.
“A vow? What vow is this, before you are even a novice?” he cried irately.
I felt myself moved – Laurette had drawn the locket out of her bosom and was holding it up to the fat fearsome priest. “I have taken a vow by this token of Saint Laurette,” she cried.
“Saint Laurette? But that is a French saint of whom I have never heard. She does not pertain here now, my daughter. Come, I burn for you – do you not see how my prick trembles with longing? The viscous drops of white spunk which dribble from these lips speak eloquently of my passion! Ah, what sweet titties the minx has, and what a red little mouth – truly is it said she speaks French well – and she shall speak it to my prick all the night long if she is of such a mind!”
“Non, non, ne me touchez pas! I have taken a vow, I cannot give myself without my vow, Father!” Sweet Marisia cried again in the most passable English.
“Take care lest you raise my wrath more than you already do my prick, my daughter!” he thundered. “Give me this locket – is this your holy relic of Saint Laurette? Let us see what miraculous symbol it contains!”
