CHAPTER FOUR
I was able to get sufficient sleep after Father Lawrence had bade Desiree a last amorous goodbye, and when I wakened, I found that I had not been dreaming. Alas, I was still securely imprisoned within the locket, and my proboscis was being tickled by one of the strands of Laurette's pussyhairs. I heard rather suddenly the resonant voice of the ecclesiastic in whose cassock pocket I remained unwillingly housed: “Well, Pere Mourier, like all things, our brief acquaintanceship comes to an end this day. God willing, I may be back to visit you in Languecuisse one day.”
Whereupon came the unctuous and oily tones of the fat French cure: “Ah, my worthy and eminent colleague, we could have done great things together. Though I have known you but a few short weeks, Father Lawrence, you are a man in whose company I feel completely at my ease.”
“You do me too much honor, Pere Mourier,” responded my unknowing jailer, “but if I mistake not, you would much prefer the company of the fair sex to mine. Besides, what should it profit either of us to waste our sermons and our wisdom on each other, when it is our duty to bring redemption and humility to the laity? No, my dear friend, you will fulfill an exemplary function here in this tiny village by overseeing the frolics of the young men and the young girls and dragging them toward the blessed altar of Our Lady. Even in far-off London when I am most nostalgically reminiscent over my sojourn in this little corner of beautiful Provence, I shall sense, somehow, a spiritual rapport – those moments when you are reading the banns from your pulpit in the village church. And my heart will be gladdened at the thought that you are bringing righteousness to the hot-blooded youth of this part of France, with whose moral vigor I am in such hearty sympathy.”
“Rest assured that I shall do my very best, good Father Lawrence,” the fat priest returned. “But all the same, I shall remember how it was with your help that we brought the dear Laurette to the bridal bed and ultimately to such great fortune as she now enjoys. I was the one who first heard her timid, juvenile confession – the dear child! – and now to think she is mistress of a rich estate and about to wed such a handsome and worthy man as young Pierre!”
I tell you frankly, dear reader, that if I had been out of that wretched locket, I would have bitten the old hypocrite in his fleshiest parts to punish him for his double-faced prevarications. I could well remember how he had condemned that handsome youth when he had come upon him and Laurette out in the fields, and how he had characterized young Pierre as a good-for-nothing, a wretched scoundrel who sought to steal the previous jewel that was already spoken for on behalf of the senile old patron of the hamlet. But now the tables had been turned and the patron was no more upon this mortal coil, and besides, Laurette had shrewdly anticipated his greed by bestowing a bounteous largesse upon his rectory – now he was singing the praises of the very youth he had damned so recently.
However, Father Lawrence did not seem disposed to pursue the obsequious conversation and now remarked, “I trust that my ward is ready for the journey?”
“Oh, to be sure. I will have my housekeeper see to her bath and her dressing for the voyage back to London, dear sir. What a charming creature she is! How I envy you the task of converting her to the true faith and developing all those tender sensibilities which she has already given exquisite proof.”
“I trust,” said the English ecclesiastic dryly, “that she did not offer any such proof to you last night.”
I heard a gasp of injured indignation as the French prelate proclaimed his honesty as one who had been granted a holy trust. “What a thought, Your Reverence! I assure you that I lay on my bed, before sleep overtook me, saying my rosary for the soul of the little darling, that no evil might befall her in a foreign land.”
“You must not impugn England because it is not France,” good Father Lawrence instantly countered, with an ironic chuckle. “From what I have heard, the Seminary of St. Thaddeus shelters some of the most able priests of our doctrine. I had heard of Father Clement and Father Ambrose long before I was assigned to the Seminary. They are famous for their good works among the impious, the uninformed and particularly the young, most impressionable sinners whom they seek to turn toward the way of propriety and humility.”
“Most excellent virtues, those,” the fat French priest replied. “But here is Desiree herself, and look you, she brings Marisia ready to depart with you. Come, my darling child, and give an old priest a loving kiss. I will say prayers for you this evening, and I shall brush away the tears to think that your sweet face and soft voice and lovely form will no longer grace our little village.”
“You are very sweet, dear Pere Mourier,” I heard the fluted voice of young Marisia intone. Then I heard a noisy, wet smack and knew that she had complied with the fat old fool's request. I divined also that his pudgy hands must have slyly roamed over the more tempting parts of her as yet immature though certainly nubile anatomy. Besides, Father Lawrence now gruffly bade his French colleague a last adieu, and only then did his voice take on a softer tone as he bade farewell to the housekeeper Desiree.
“And you, Madame, I am in your debt forever for your gracious hospitality. I shall remember the delectable dishes which you prepared for me with your own lovely hands, and the tender attention with which you watched over my endeavors in this village which is native to you, but which, in so short a time, already engraved its landmark in my very heart. Give me your hand to kiss, Madame; in your own prayers this evening, before you enter your solitary bed, think kindly of me, if you will.”
“That will not be in the least difficult, Your Reverence,” the bold Amazon softly laughed. I heard the sound of a kiss, and then an excited little giggle. Undoubtedly my jailer must have retaliated by pinching the housekeeper just as her employer had already done to Father Lawrence's virginal ward.
A little later, we were rattling along in the cart which the amiable farmer had brought around to take Father Lawrence and Marisia on the first leg of their journey. Father Lawrence was laconic during the long ride in the cart, though from time to time he made some banal comment or other upon the beauty of the landscape. He did, however, ask Marisia if she felt the least bit homesick at leaving Provence, at which she retorted saucily, “Oh, no, my Father, because I feel so safe and happy with you. Is it true that you are to be my sponsor when I become a novice in the seminary to which you are taking me?”
“That is true, my daughter.”
“And will there be a kind of initiation before I am admitted?”
“Undoubtedly, my daughter.”
“Then, my Father,” Marisia cooed as she snuggled closer to him, judging by the nearer sound of her voice to my sharply keened sense of hearing in that locket which he had appropriated, “I shall do my very best to please you. Are you going to fuck me?”
“Hush, my child, or our driver may overhear and condemn us both for such licentiousness!” Father Lawrence warned. Then, his voice very low, he added more gently, “If you wish it, my daughter.”
“I do. I want you to be the one who takes my maidenhead, my Father. I am so envious of Laurette, you know. And even if I am much younger than she is, my Father, it does not mean that I cannot endure the same tortures and desires that she does between her lovely legs.”
“Of that I am quite aware, my daughter. However, I would caution you in advance of your entry to the seminary. For all that I shall be your sponsor, for all that I shall show you by way of preference – you are very adorable and very desirable as well as a candidate for salvation – there are still priests at the seminary who have the right to test your compliance and your docility. And it would be injurious to my own status as a novice myself, for such I am, my dear child, having just been assigned to this seminary – if you were to express aloud your sentiments preferring me to the other priests who have been there far longer and who therefore have rights of seniority over your charming person.”
“I shall be very good and do everything you tell me to. But, Father Lawrence…”
“What, my child?”
Marisia now must have leaned very close to him to whisper, and I could make out only the words – in French, of course, which I continue to translate for you- 'fuck' and 'take my maidenhead.' Then I heard Father Lawrence aloud, “You must not tempt me, my child. Get thee behind me, Satan. In all honor, I must not enjoy what you so graciously offer until the night of your initiation.”
“But at least,” Marisia spoke more lightly now, “you will let me suck it, won't you, my father? It is so big and hard, and I am dying to do it. After all, didn't I help Laurette with her old husband so he could fuck her?”
“Be still, you naughty little vixen! You must not speak aloud of such things, for ignorant passers-by might neither believe that you are a novice nor I a priest. Let us save such discussions for more private and intimate
