The Autobiography of a Flea

by Anonymous

Chapter 8

Pere Mourier, now fully composed, entered the reception salon of the rectory to meet his mysterious guest. Meanwhile, Desireé hastened to procure a tray of cakes, two glasses, and a bottle of excellent Burgundy, which she set down on a table between the two priests. She did not at once withdraw, but stood at the doorway, making languishing eyes at the newcomer. He had evidently taken her fancy, for he was indeed a handsome and mature man in the full prime of his faculties. I suspected that it was he who had disarranged her blouse.

Father Lawrence was just under six feet tall, in his late forties, I should judge, with an abundant shock of brown hair only partly streaked with gray. He had vigorous, rugged features, intense blue eyes, thick brows, a strong Roman nose, and a firm, decisive mouth and chin. He was so much more prepossessing than Pere Mourier that I had no doubt the handsome widow was regretting her impulsive offer to become the latter's housekeeper just when a man of Father Lawrence's vitality and robustness appeared upon the scene.

"I bid you welcome to the village of Languecuisse, Father," the obese holy man obsequiously greeted his confrere, extending his pudgy hand--the very one which had just dealt poor little Laurette such a thrashing on her naked behind (and also served to soothe her hurts in such a novel manner).

"May I ask to what order you belong?"

"Why, to tell the truth, Pere Mourier, it happens that I have a third cousin of my family residing in a town some fifty miles from your charming little village. As I am now even more needful of a vacation, after my visit to my cousin, I decided to see the rest of the countryside, particularly this area which is so famous for its excellent wines."

"Indeed, Father, you have come to the right place for wines. This very day we held a grape-trampling contest to celebrate the harvest of the good grapes that make such delicious wine as this. Dear Madame Desireé, will you not do the honors?"

The handsome widow was only too happy to be called back to service in the presence of so virile and splendidly vital a visitor. As she opened the bottle and poured out the mellow red wine, her eyes fixed on Father Lawrence with an intense admiration while her superb enormous bosom swelled with ardor. He lifted his glass to toast the health of Pere Mourier and laughingly declared: "To your health, my worthy colleague of France, and to the health of this attractive housekeeper. Now then, you asked me to what order I belong. I was about to say that after my vacation, I shall go to a new parish, having served faithfully my little flock in the Soho district of London. I have been assigned to the seminary of St. Thaddeus, and I am to return there in about a month. I look forward to my new duties, Pere Mourier, but until that time, I should much prefer to be treated like a visitor and to enjoy my leisure in this beautiful country of Provence."

He lifted his glass first to the obese holy man, and then towards Desireé herself who modestly lowered her eyes and blushed properly, as a chaste widow should. Yet, I remember how boldly she had exhibited her charms only that afternoon in the cask when she had lofted her skirt and petticoat to expose herself without drawers.

Pere Mourier fairly beamed at this news. "Why, then, Father Lawrence," he replied, "since that is your disposition, I, as spiritual leader of this pleasant little community, would like nothing better than to invite you to spend the rest of your vacation here. It is true that we do not have the excitement of the large cities, but we have many interesting sights and quite a few philosophical problems to occupy your alert mind, I am sure. As a matter of fact, just as I came to receive you, I was wrestling with the Devil himself in seeking to drive him forth from a charming damsel who is without a doubt the most beautiful in our village.

The bushy eyebrows of the English ecclesiast arched with interested surprise. "I should be most happy to accept your invitation. You know that the country where I come from is but an island subject to fog and rain and cloudy weather. But here in beautiful Provence, I have already fallen in love with the sun and the green fields and the simple people of the earth. Of course, I should have to find accommodations somewhere." As he said this, he glanced artfully at the Amazonian housekeeper who stood beside him, ready to fill his glass once again. Her red full lips curved in a comprehending smile as she favored him with a sultry glance from under lowered lashes.

"That would be no problem," Pere Mourier at once responded, "for I know a number of families who would be privileged to take you in as their guest."

"I should not like to be a burden on anyone. The ideal thing would be to find some little place and to engage a housekeeper, such as yours, for example, good Pere Mourier." The fat priest pursed his fleshy lips and furrowed his brow in concentration. "I know of one such place. It is a little cottage on the other side of the village, rather humble, and in it dwells an estimable widow by the name of Madame Hortense Bernard. I am certain that if I spoke to her, she would be happy to put you up as a guest."

"Naturally I should pay for my food and lodging," Father Lawrence smiled. "But tell me of this good soul. She is doubtless one of your parishioners?"

"Oh, to be sure," Pere Mourier smiled with a knowing wink, for it was obvious that he felt already a certain bond of kinship between himself and the virile-looking English churchman. "She is the soul of devotion herself. She was bereaved two years ago when her husband fell into a vat of wine and was drowned. It was a dark night without stars or moon to guide the unfortunate man's footsteps, and it appeared that he had stumbled from a window, lost his balance and toppled down into the vat. Since then, Madame Bernard has grieved unceasingly for him. Indeed, had it not been for my good fortune in finding that Madame Desireé wished a situation, I should doubtless have engaged Madame Bernard. She has, you see, tenancy of a few acres of grapevines, and the past two summers her neighbor's husband, the industrious Jules Dulac, has done a charitable work under heaven's eyes by looking after them for her. Yet, unfortunately, her soil was not blessed and thus the harvests have not been prosperous for her. She could very well use the francs you could pay her for your keep, good Father Lawrence."

"Then I should be indebted to you, Pere Mourier, if you would, as is convenient, speak to this soul on my behalf."

"Consider it done. But meanwhile, you will do me the honor of staying here for the night. In the morning, I shall go to Madame Bernard and make the arrangements. Madame Desireé?"

"Yes, Your Reverence," the beautiful Amazon cooed.

"I am certain that we can find a place for Father Lawrence to sleep tonight. Will you see to it, my dear?"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Reverence," Desireé purred, and with a glance, she gave Father Lawrence to understand that the remark was really meant for him.

"So that is settled," the fat priest chuckled. "Now, Father Lawrence perhaps you will lend me your spiritual aid in conversing with the fair penitent of whom I was speaking but a moment ago. Hers is a most distressing case, and I fear that because of her youth and innocence, she is not yet resigned to her duty."

"I shall be most happy to collaborate with you, Pere Mourier, in any way that you deem advisable," said the vigorous English ecclesiastic. Since Pere Mourier was not looking at him at the moment, he hazarded a glance at the chestnut-haired housekeeper, and it was such a look as gave her to understand that he found her comely. She flushed hotly beneath that gaze and then volunteered, "If Your Reverence has no further need of me at the moment, I will prepare a bed for Father Lawrence."

"Do so indeed, my dear." Pere Mourier beamed and gave a lordly flourish of his hand. "Come, Father Lawrence, and let us attend this charming penitent. I have only just finished with her discipline so that she may see the error of her ways." Father Lawrence rose from the table and moved to follow his French colleague. But as Desireé had not yet left the room, he took stealthy advantage of her presence to pass his left hand quickly over her magnificent backside and to give it a most familiar little squeeze. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp of surprised delight, and then, flashing him an enamored look from those magnificent eyes of hers, promptly left the room.

En route to the room in which he had left poor Laurette still kneeling on the straight-backed chair, Pere swiftly explained the circumstances of her presence. Father Lawrence nursed his chin with a well-groomed hand and sighed: "Yes, I can see your problem, Pere Mourier. This young person has already the devil's influence manifested by the young wretch whom you so rightly halted from his vile intent, and it is best to do all that is in one's power to restore her to the path of righteousness. She must certainly be wed, and as soon as possible."

"I am of the same opinion, Father Lawrence. I shall read the banns next Sunday. Tomorrow morning, when I confer with Monsieur Villiers, I shall see to it that he agrees to hold the wedding ceremony not later than two weeks from then. I shall not be able to rest at night until Laurette Boischamp is legally wedded and bedded by this worthy patron, who has made so many charitable contributions to the village and to my own humble church."

"I shall try to reason with the girl," said Father Lawrence.

"I have some little experience in these matters, you see."

"Of course, Father Lawrence," Pere Mourier said somewhat dolefully. "In one sense, it is a pity that this charming maiden cannot be linked to a husband nearer her own age. But who would you have? Our village is humble and poor, and all the vineyards are owned by the patron. The people here are tenant farmers, dependent upon his good charity for their wages and their little cottages. Without his efforts and benign humanitarianism, they would be all penniless and out of work, and hence liable to mischievous employment. The devil finds work for idle hands, you know."

"I am acquainted with the proverb," Father Lawrence dryly retorted. "Yes, nature and the call of the senses--which is so often that of the devil himself--urges a liaison of youth to youth. But domestic bliss with so worthy and affluent a man as you tell me this Monsieur Villiers is, has great virtues to commend it. Especially as he is, as you say, a contributor to the greater glory of Mother Church."

"Exactly my opinion," beamed the obese holy man. "Well, I shall open the door and you shall see this delicious young sinner."

So saying, he turned the knob of the door and the two priests entered. Laurette turned her head and uttered a startled cry of shame and fright, her face turning scarlet to behold a stranger seeing her thus humbled, kneeling on the chair where she had received her scourging.

"Do not be distressed, my daughter," Father Lawrence spoke to her in excellent French. "I am of the same faith as your good father confessor, Pere Mourier, and he has told me much about you. I feel already a warm sympathy for you, my daughter."

"Aye, that we both have," seconded the fat French priest. I need not recount to my readers the tedious and pompous sermon that both men preached to the unhappy, golden haired Laurette. Suffice it to say that they threatened her with a fall from grace and even excommunication if she did not swear to be chaste and true until the marriage ceremony to her intended husband, and that both strictly forbade her even so much as a whispered conversation with that scoundrel Pierre Larrieu. Father Lawrence ended by warning her that if she sinned again, Pere Mourier would doubtless let her taste the scourge even more severely than she had already felt it this night. Then Pere Mourier volunteered to see Laurette safely back to her parents' abode, and departed from the rectory with her clinging to his arm.

Father Lawrence rubbed his hands gleefully and went back to the salon, where, as he had anticipated, he found the chestnut-haired Amazon awaiting him. "Let me show you to your room, Your Reverence," Desireé invited. Her glowing eyes promised. I could already then have predicted that she meant to share the bed she had prepared in his honor. "It is, alas, only a humble cot. It is not at all worthy of Your Reverence."

"Do not apologize, my daughter," Father Lawrence said smilingly. "It is the spirit and the intention which count. Lead me to this gracious shelter."

She lead him at once to the little room, which was cramped and narrow and, just as she told him, provided with only an old cot and a rather worn mattress.

No sooner were they in the room together (out of my Fleaish curiosity, I had decided to follow them rather than Laurette and Pere Mourier), but Father Lawrence inspected the cot by seating himself upon it. "It will bear my weight and that is good enough, my sister," he approved. "We are taught humility and poverty, so I am not one for fine trappings. But tell me now, my daughter, I am told you are a widow like this Madame Bernard. How is it that no one in this village has asked for your hand in marriage, for it seems to me that you are sturdy and comely and well capable of bringing joy to the household of a worthy man."

"The fact is, Your Reverence," the chestnut-haired Amazon chattily retorted with another roguish glance at him, "there is no man in Languecuisse who feels himself endowed enough by nature to satisfy my fleshly longings. And I would not be a burden on any man unless he wished me as his loyal loving consort."

"The attitude that you have is praiseworthy, my daughter. But you may speak freely to me of such things, for I know much about what takes place between husband and wife, having traveled a great deal and observed the foibles of men and women. Do you mean that the men of this village are frightened off my your tall and magnificent beauty?"

Desireé blushed like a modest virgin at this, and clasped her hands before her and lowered her eyes. "It is not entirely that, Your Reverence. It is true that I am as tall as a man, but I think they are afraid that I will tire them out between the sheets at night. I ask your pardon for speaking so grossly." "Oh, there is no need to ask for pardon, my child," smiled Father Lawrence. "For heaven looks down with happy gaze upon truly united souls in wedlock who enjoy each other and keep unto themselves once their troth is plighted. But I am still somewhat dense, my dear daughter, as to the precise meaning you imply. Do you mean to tell me there is no man in all this village who can satisfy your physical cravings? "None thus far since my poor husband's passing, Your Reverence," Desireé mournfully replied, shaking her beautiful head so her thick chestnut mane danced in the air about her shoulder blades. "And, once again, begging your pardon, even my husband was not sufficient unto me, though, of course, I knew it would be a sin to seek out the beds of others while I was still his wife."

"Rightly so, my daughter. But now that you are unattached, as it were, you are free to look for such a man. Now tell me, has this good Pere Mourier shown any designs upon your person?"

Desireé blushed at this forthright question from a holy man, then giggled at the irreverent thoughts it provoked. "I think he may have, Your Reverence. He saw me this afternoon trampling the grapes in the cask, and he stared very boldly at my naked legs and belly. And it was directly after I stepped out of the cask that he proposed that I should become his housekeeper. He asked nothing about my culinary talents, nor any others. But of course, he has known me for several years as a faithful spouse and one of his parishioners."

"That then explains his interest in you." Father Lawrence had approached the beautiful, tall Amazon. Now he put his hands on her hips and boldly appraised her swelling breasts with knowledgeable eyes. "You seem very young, my daughter."

"Alas, Father, I am twenty-eight. In Languecuisse, this is almost old age for a woman. The young men have eyes only for the damsels like that little Laurette you just met. She is only nineteen, but that too is much older than in customary for marriage in this region."

"All the more reason for her to be wed as soon as possible," Father Lawrence avowed. His hands slipped back now over Desireé's jutting, boldly ripe bottom cheeks, which he squeezed through her thin skirt. "Of a truth, my daughter, you do not feel to be much older than Laurette. And you tell me that there is no man hereabouts whom you deem sufficient to give you physical joy?"

"I said not so far, Your Reverence," Desireé murmured. She stared into his eyes, her red lips curving in a comprehending smile. And she moved closer to him, letting his hands wander as they would. Then she uttered a little gasp and looked down. Between their bodies, there was already a polarity. The cassock of the good father bulged out tremendously from his loins. Furtively, the beautiful chestnut haired Amazon slipped her hand down and her fingers tentatively closed over the protuberance. "Oh, Your Reverence, I cannot believe it!" she ejaculated in a tremulous voice.

"What cannot you believe, my daughter?" His voice had become hoarse by this time, as might well be imagined. And his fingers grew bolder still, kneading and squeezing the luscious contours of Desireé's bottom through the thin stuff of her skirt.

"That ... that you are such a man as heaven should have sent me long ago," the Amazon brazenly murmured, looking deeply into his eyes, and her red lips moist and parted with obvious invitation.

"But things are not what they seem at all times, my daughter," he banteringly replied. Perhaps it would be well to judge by actuality rather than by appearance."

"But I would not dare offend Your Reverence," Desireé murmured apologetically.

"That which is done sincerely is not offensive, my dear child," he smilingly retorted.

At this, the forward young widow stooped, caught up the hems of his cassock and furled the silken garment to his waist, holding it there with one hand while she rummaged rather expertly at his drawers. In a trice, she liberated his sexual weapon, and her eyes widened with amazement at the sight.

Father Lawrence was prodigiously equipped. In full erection at her touch--for Desireé lost no time it clasping the middle of the shaft with her strong fingers to discover the actuality rather than being swayed by the appearance as the good father had put it. But this was surely truth, his penis must have measured at least seven and a half inches in length. It was admirably thick as well and the head, which rose out of a narrow groove of circumcision, was oval-shaped and slightly elongated. Its lips were thin and tightly shut together, but they were already twitching with carnal irritation from the bold enclaspment of that beautiful hand.

"I cannot believe my eyes, Your Reverence," she exclaimed, her voice slightly trembling. "I truly would not have believed it!"

"Are you of a mind to test its measure, my daughter?" he softly inquired.

"Oh yes, if Your Reverence would so honor a poor humble widow," she breathed.

"Then you had best secure the door, lest your new master come upon us."

"I will do that at once, Your Reverence. But do not worry about Pere Mourier. He and the maiden Laurette will take a long and devious stroll before he reaches her abode, for he wishes to impress upon her the need for chastity. Besides, after he has gone to sleep, I will come to you again and we can have more time--that is, if I do not anger you by my sinfulness."

"But you have committed no sin, my daughter. Yours is a curious inquisitiveness which both delights and inflames me."

She hurried to the door and threw the bolt. Then swiftly she divested herself of her thin skirt and blouse, under which she was as naked as she had been in the cask that afternoon. She stood before him, hands on her side, head tilted back, blushing deliciously, proud in the knowledge that his eyes roved over her sumptuous breasts, her suave, well-dimpled belly, the thick luxuriant garden of dark chestnut curls which covered her mound and disappeared between her thighs, and those robust yet beautifully proportioned thighs themselves, which appeared capable of crushing a man's ribs within their fiery embrace.

With a gasp of admiration, Father Lawrence drew off his cassock. Taking off his shoes and divesting himself of his drawers, he stood before her equally naked, his body wiry yet vigorous, nowhere showing emaciation or meagerness or age. And least of all did the fulminating structures of his swollen cock evince the least flaccidity of flesh that is so common to men who attain their two score of years and more. Desireé let a sigh of admiration escape her as she moved towards him, her big breasts jiggling with each step. Her nipples were already turgid coral points of erotic anticipation, and voluptuous shivers ran along her thighs and calves at the thought of what awaited her.

She put out one soft hand to cup his heavy, hairy balls, overcharged with amorous essence, and she exalted another sigh. Meanwhile, Father Lawrence, rather than let this judging be one-sided, circled her waist with his left arm and extended his right forefinger toward the thick bush of her pubis and began to feel for the soft pink lips of Venus themselves. Her slow little giggle and the lascivious squirming of her sumptuous bottom cheeks told him that he had attained his objective. He began to rim the fleshy, soft, and already moistening lips of her cunt with a lingering deliberation, which at once told me, expert as I have become is such matters, that he was by no means a novice in the sweet games of Cythera.

Now she used both hands to cup and rub and massage the broad, hot, thickly veined shaft of his organ, and her breasts rose and fell with an erratic tumult as she imagined just how his weapon would feel within her cunt.

"It is so big, so thick and hard and hot, Your Reverence!" she whispered, "voulez-vous bien me baiser?" (which, translated, means Do you really want to fuck me?)

"Once a sword is drawn, it must either draw blood or be sheathed," he quipped. "And since you tell me you are a widow, it follows that you are no virgin, and therefore my blade will not bleed you, my daughter. Let us proceed to sheathe it, then, to your complete satisfaction."

"Oh, yes, Your Reverence," Desireé exclaimed.

Now it was his turn to use both hands as his fingers found the plump, palpitating lips of Desireé's cunt and drew them apart. Meanwhile, the beautiful chestnut-haired Amazon daintily grasped his cock and steered him toward her orifice.

The elongated, naked pink tip of his sword forced its way through the thick, curly ringlets that still shielded her secret bower, and then he gave himself a little forward jerk and engaged a good half of his shaft within her channel. Desireé uttered a cry of bliss: "Oh Your Reverence! It stretches me; it pierces me! Oh, do not stop now, put all of it into me quickly!"

"With the greatest of good will, my daughter," he told her as he took hold of her naked bottom cheeks at the base, sinking his fingers eagerly into that succulent warm flesh, and thrust himself to the very hilt till their hairs mingled. Vigorous and strong though she was, the naked Amazon nonetheless had to clutch him with her arms locked around his shoulders, for she had begun to sway and to tremble at the very first dig of his prong into her quivering chasm. She closed her eyes, her nostrils opening and closing furiously as carnal desire swept through her every limb. "Oh, it fills me, it stretches and digs so deliciously," she moaned in her rapture.

His lips found the pulse hollow of her throat as he began to fuck her with long deep thrusts. She let her head fall back, and her fingernails dug into his bare shoulders, excoriating him in her delirium.

"You are very tight, my daughter, yet there is a moistness there which tells me that you are longing for satisfaction," he declared without once interrupting his slow, deliberate rhythm.

"Ohh, it is true Your Reverence, it has been many a month since I enjoyed so magnificent a cock inside me--oh, it is so good when you push it in slowly. I can feel every inch of it invading and stretching me there!" she gasped.

Now she began to press forward to meet his charger with an undulating twist to her ripe, full hips that showed how furiously she was being drawn towards the zenith of carnal ecstasy. Her nails dug into his flesh almost to the blood, but in retaliation, his fingers squeezed and pinched the shuddering cheeks of her succulent backside. Indeed, by tactual means he was able to communicate a kind of signal to her when he meant to thrust home his blade; when he squeezed the edges of both plump cheeks, this was a sign to her that he was delving home to her hairs, while when he eased the grip on her behind, that meant she should be ready to expect his withdrawal.

I heard the moist, suctioning sounds which his prong and her well-lubricated channel produced in their in-and-out maneuvering. Desireé's gasps and sighs became louder: "Aaah! Oh, Your Reverence, no one has ever fucked me so well--I entreat you not to stop; it is too heavenly--Ooohh, harder, push it into me till you tear me apart; I am strong and can endure such penance! Eeeeaaaiiiiih!! I cannot hold on much longer, Your Reverence, please make me spend--now now! Oh, now!"

Sobbing at this final ejaculation, she crushed herself against him so her magnificent naked breasts flattened against his heaving chest. Her teeth nipped at his satiny shoulder, as his hands forced open her buttocks and he delved a fingertip into the tight, pink, twitching rosette of her bottom hole. At that very instant, he forced himself forward till his balls clashed against her thick dark chestnut pubis, and with a cry of delight, announced his own fulfillment: "Yes, now, my daughter, take it all!"

I saw her Amazonian body quake and shudder as the tempestuous burst of his essence lashed the volutes of her womb. Their cries coalesced, just as had their flesh, and thus the most ardent widow in Languecuisse welcomed the virile English ecclesiastic. The widow Bernard would have to be superhumanly endowed to be able to equal, much less surpass, the passionate fervor of this chestnut-haired, bold, flaunting Amazon.

After it was over, Father Lawrence mopped both their private parts with a cambric handkerchief that he put to his nostrils and inhaled, closing his eyes with rapture at the memento. Desireé, swiftly donning her skirt and blouse, then drawing the bolt of the door, turned to him, her face radiant, and whispered, "I shall knock three times, Your Reverence, after Pere Mourier has begun to snore. Once he does that, I know he will not wake until the dawn."

"Oh?" Father Lawrence chuckled, "so then you have indulged his passions already, my daughter?"

"Oh no, Your Reverence! But I was told this by his last housekeeper, Dame Clorinda, who left his service some few months ago to wed a rich widower. But I am certain Your Reverence--and again I beg you to forgive me if my boldness offends you--that even if he does summon me to his bed, he cannot possibly be so competent as you in making me forget my widowhood. I bid you au revoir, Your Reverence."