“Oh, hurry, hurry, Your Eminence,” Georgette panted, “take off your clothes and let me see your bee que!”
“With right good will, my daughter,” Father Lawrence laughed, “but do you do likewise, so we shall be as one, yet neither of us having any distinction over the other save only that in the divergence of our sex.”
“There, I am all naked now, Your Eminence. Do you like me?” Georgette naively purred.
“You are bewitching, my daughter; such big round titties so proudly standing out, offering their ripe strawberries at the centers for my lips and fingers and tongue,” he praised her. “Such a darling belly with its deep, wide oasis meant for the titillation of my tongue, or even the nuzzling of my prickhead. And that cunny, so mysteriously hidden from my eager eyes with those darkbrown lovecurls which I am longing to press asunder so that I may gaze upon the jewel of your being!”
“Oh, hurry then, push them asunder quickly then, for my cunny is burning for your great becque!” she implored.
I had been bounced about rudely when Father Lawrence had undressed, for he had hung his cassock over a wine cask, and the thud of the locket against the wood had nearly startled the wits out of me, as well as momentarily deafening me. However, I could not mistake the sounds that then ensued. The groans, the sighs, the tremolo of a young woman's voice in the seventh heaven of carnal rapture: “Ahhh, how good it is inside my con! Oh, harder, deeper, Your Eminence, fuck me harder! It has been so long since I have been fucked by any man. Oh, Your Eminence, though I must wait on all the men who come to this place, my wretch of a father watches over me like a hawk, and frowns on any man who so much as dares to pinch my bottom. Pinch it now, Your Eminence, put your fingers inside the little hole there, too. Aiiii – oh, yes, yes – that is heaven itself!”
“Why, you are easily satisfied, my daughter, since I have not even yet begun to fuck you properly. Now be silent and let me show you how we English differ from your French fornicators in our ability to prolong the delightful art,” the good Father soothed. Thereupon he must have begun an agile journey back and forth inside Georgette's burning cunthole, judging by her sighs and stifled shrieks, and then I heard a simultaneous groan of ecstasy which told me that each of them had found their own special paradise of prick and pussy united in rapture.
But at least Marisia's virginity was safe. She would leave France a virgin. I did not think she would remain such for long, once she had arrived at the seminary to which this intrepid and tireless English ecclesiastic had been assigned.
CHAPTER FIVE
Despite his energetic nocturnal peregrinations, Father Lawrence wakened from his no doubt happy and fully appeased slumbers not much later than dawn. I know this because, although I was still dolefully locked in my tiny metal prison, the good Father betook himself downstairs to the dining room of the inn and seated himself heavily at a table. The violent jolt which occurred when his sinewy posterior came into contact with his chair served to waken me in turn. Thereupon I heard him smack his hand upon the table and exclaim in stentorian tones “Hola! Is there anyone about? The sun has already risen in the heavens, the winds blow angrily across the Channel, and here am I, a lonely English priest, in need of sustenance before I leave your fair shores!”
A few moments later, I heard a bustling from a distance and then the sound of hurrying footsteps, and next the landlord's meek and deferential voice: “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I did not know your habits. For the most part, my clientele does not breakfast here, but takes only the dejeuner and the evening meal.”
“It is small wonder, then, that Old Boney lost his most important battle to the Duke of Wellington,” Father Lawrence answered in a jovial tone. “Why, man, without the first meal of the day the staunchest of mortals is likely to feel faint, to have a clouding of the brain, a torpor of the blood, a flux of the liver and, in a word, lose all that vital sanguinity which stirs the senses to the most audacious feasts of valor and of virtue. But since I have roused you from your drowsy bed, good landlord, and hence, to work. First, though, what news is there of the Channel?”
“The very worse, I fear, Your Eminence,” the landlord continued to flatter the English ecclesiastic. “The waters are whipped by a northerly wind, and it is not yet safe for a vessel to leave the docks.”
“No matter,” Father Lawrence remarked in right good humor, “so long as the winds and the water becalm themselves by eventide, when my frail and trusting ward and I shall embark for my native land. So much for that. What fare have you for a hungry man this dawning?”
What a rogue of parts was this estimable Father Lawrence! I infinitely preferred him to the guileful and stealthy fat French prelate of the little hamlet which we had just quitted. How unblushingly unabashed he was, of a truth. Here he sat, haranguing his host, when but a few hours ago he had enjoyed the most licentious fornication with the landlord's only daughter! But I perceived his tack: by the very means of his loud and compelling speech, Father Lawrence utterly banished the vaguest hints his host might have conjectured as to the possibility of a clandestine tryst between his charming baggage of a daughter and this cheerful priest. For surely, if the ordinary man were to engage in a bout of fucking with so winsome and passionately complaisant a wench as this Georgette, he would surely show some signs of fatigue so early on the morning after the consummation of his desires. Evidently, Father Lawrence's vacation in the heart of Provence had so thoroughly rested him and imbued him with boundless energy that he showed not the faintest sign of any lassitude which all to many men display after their cocks have emitted ample tributary flow in homage of the Goddess Venus.
“I shall have to prepare your repast myself, I fear,” the landlord apologized. “If you will not be too demanding, I shall try to appease Your Eminence's hunger with an omelette, into which I shall stir some savory morsels of jambon, some crusty bread and, of course, our best wine.”
“Well, well, it will do for the nonce,” Father Lawrence agreed. “But bring it quickly, and first of all the wine. I have journeyed here from a little village where the harvest of the grapes taught me that when the fruit is sweetest and ripest, it must be plucked.”
“Your Eminence is surely wise, and how well Your Eminence speaks our beautiful language,” the landlord propitiated him.
“You must never believe, my good host,” my unsuspecting jailer retorted with a hearty laugh, “that because a man wears the black cassock and hat of Mother Church, he must needs be a lackluster, sorrowful creature forever at his beads and paternosters. As for myself, I manage to enjoy all the pleasures that life can provide a man still in his fettle, and yet I do not slacken one whit in my spiritual tithes to those parishioners who depend upon me for comfort and guidance. Indeed, were I to remain on your shores, I might well turn my hand to converting those who may still believe that he who wears the black raiment of the holy order is certain to be a gloomy pessimist who takes no comfort from such things as good wine, good food and the pleasure of hearing the timid confessions of nervous females. Bring me your best wine, then, my good host, and share a glass with me to drink a toast to the honesty of the priesthood!”
“With the greatest of pleasure, Your Grace,” the landlord exclaimed, and again I heard the scurrying of feet as he undoubtedly hastened to fetch the bottle which had been requisitioned.
It would have been the most exquisite of ironies if the landlord's daughter had now appeared on the scene to serve her father's guest who was one and the same man who had fucked her so imperiously but a few hours hence. And since the charming Georgette was at least half the age of Father Lawrence, one would ordinarily have assumed that her resilience and durability would have been twice as great, so that she would have been upon the scene at an even earlier hour. But such was not the case. The toast was drunk, and then the landlord hastened off again to prepare the omelette with bits of tender ham, which he presently set piping hot before his honored guest.
From the movement of Father Lawrence's arms and shoulders which had their eventual effect upon me in my locket-prison, I was certain that he was attacking his food with the same exemplary vitality which his massive and stalwart cock had displayed in prying into Georgette's hot, churning cunthole.
At any rate, he must have done full justice to the ample breakfast served him by his obsequious host, for the landlord remarked that it did his heart a great pleasure to watch a patron take food and drink with such gusto.
Father Lawrence popped this off by remarking, “it has always been my philosophy, Monsieur my host, to
