The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 3

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was late afternoon of the next day when the coach from Somerset deposited the good Father and his three French virgin wards before the doors of the Seminary of St. Thaddeus.

“Now remember, my daughters,” he counseled all three, “at the moment I ring this bell to summon the old sacristan – who, by the way, does not take part in the nocturnal confessionals to which all novices are subjected by the order of priests – you pass from childish games and maidenly whims to the stern rigors of a discipline which may astound you. There are three here of whom you must especially beware: the Father Superior himself, who never tells any maiden his Christian name lest she conceive a secret passion for him by thus cherishing it in her heart after his member has been lodged well inside her cunt; the red-haired, massive-cocked Father Clement, and the bull-like Father Ambrose, a very satyr of a man, with curling black hair that almost hides the huge gnarled sacks wherein he stores his never ending potions of hot bubbling spunk. The others, and there are, with myself added as I am told, an even dozen, are of varying dangers to you, my chaste wards. Hence remember earnestly your vow, and better yet, the tally about which it is concocted. Are you all of a mind to retain this good advice?”

“Mon Pere, one question,” Marisia unexpectedly spoke out, and ah, I shall forever bless that raven-haired young baggage in my own unholy orisons.

“Two, if need be, but hasten. The evening meal is of an excellence which even surpasses the viands which good Master Thomas furnished us last night.”

“I have thought of an idea,” Marisia explained. “A vow is all very well, but what if the priest asks on what sacred relic it was sworn? Now, the locket which you confiscated from me mon Pere – might I not produce it and say it was given me by Saint Laurette herself?”

“My daughter, from what I have heard no virgin has ever managed to end her days as novice at St. Thaddeus and either go forth into the temporal world or cloister herself in a nearby convent known as the Convent of St. Anne the Deaf (who, it is purported, attained sainthood because when a lusting rogue of handsome measurements, lineage and features stole to her bedchamber of a dark night and whispered to her that he was wild to fuck her, she, being deaf, could not hear him and so went into the watercloset and locked the door, and ever since that day this rogue swore that no woman was e'er so chaste) with her virginity still intact. But with the artifice you have just devised, I swear by all I hold dear that you have a bright and hopeful chance. Here, then, is your locket, my dear child.”

I felt him plunge his hand into the pocket of his silken cassock. Oh joy indescribable, to be once more with sweet Marisia! And then I felt myself moved about as he handed her the token. “Keep it guarded but in readiness, my daughter, so that when you are brought to bay of a priest who will hear only your 'Yes' of avowal and never your 'No' of virginal refusal, you may produce it and hold it up as a venerable relic, much as did the Holy Crusaders who plundered the Saracen camps and once, it is recorded, finding the jawbone of a jennet – which is an ass, my daughters – did mistake it for the thighbone of Sulieman the Damned. Yet with such good faith did they champion their mistaken discovery that many great battles were won and many maidens ravished and thus brought to the true faith, for a Christian cock is blessed over the Saracen blade as all righteous folk are well aware of. Now, I ring the bell, my daughters!”

This he did, whilst the sweet raven-haired Marisia tucked me away in her bosom, putting the little chain about her neck and letting the locket slip down under the bodice, so that I reposed – or at least my prison did with me inside it – as close to naked girl-flesh as I had once done on the fair Bella and then Julia when I had first made acquaintance with the Seminary staffed by such envigored codes as would terrify all the maids in Christendom.

There was a great creaking of the heavy oaken door, and a senile, white-haired man in the simple black habit of a lowly friar stuck his head out and croaked, “Who rings with such unseemly impatience? This is a holy house, and all are at meditations.”

“Go tell the Father Superior that it is Father Lawrence come to begin his assignment to the venerable Seminary. Oh, white-haired sacristan, speed your aging limbs!” (This reply, my readers, was how I learned of the physical lineaments of the sacristan.)

“He is at his beads in the cell of penitence.”

“With a fair novice, I would guess,” Father Lawrence quipped.

“Aye! But that is not your affair. How do I know you are truly meant to quarter here?” the old man suspiciously whined.

“Clear the rheum from your dimming eyes, my good sacristan, and behold three fair novices, aye, as fair as ever entered St. Thaddeus. Tell the Father Superior of what your vision has been, and I warrant you he will slice your portion a larger slice by fair of the good mutton than you have had in a fortnight! Go, dispatch, keep not three tender virgins waiting!”

The door swung wider now, and the old man hobbled off cackling to himself, and Father Lawrence gently ordered, “Come, my daughters, cast down your eyes and be not bold of speech or manner, but remember what little English I have lately taught you. You are to remember foremost the English phrases, 'I have taken a vow, my Father,' and 'I cannot give myself without my vow, Father.' Then also, when you see the gleaming eyes and the reaching hands that hunger for your sweet bodies, you must say, 'Oh no, I prithee, Father, it is against my vow!' Now these three goodly terms should suffice you at least for this first night. Later, as I can, I will hurriedly impart to you other answers, and you in turn must relay to me the behavior of your holy and vigilant accosters. For remember that under each cassock, no matter how thick to veil nor how somber black to disperse thought of carnal indulgence, there stirs the prick of a mighty stalwart throbbing to bring you out of your novice state to blessed fulfillment. Ah, here comes the Father Superior now! He has more gray hairs than when I last saw him, and his face is flushed and his collar is awry. As I thought, he was interrupted at a most grievous moment of confessional.” Then raising his voice, Father Lawrence called out cheerily, “I greet you, most Reverend Father Superior, as myself a novice priest assigned by my estimable superiors to take education with you and your devout familiars. Doubtless you have had this word, and I am Father Lawrence.”

“I bid you welcome to St. Thaddeus,” replied the mellow voice of the Father Superior, which was an instrument that could play as many tunes as a Westminster organ – for I had heard full many of them in my earlier days, you will recall. “Ah, but when my sacristan told me that three fair virgins were in tow with you, I could not believe my ears but hastened to see for myself.”

“This is the tender Marisia, orphaned and then adopted by a worthy French patron of a humble village in Provence, who, peace to his eternal soul, departed this earth and hence the child implored me to bring her to a place of sanctity.”

“Ah, what devotion, what gentle grace shines on her piquant face. What black silken hair falls in tender curls about her winsome shoulders! My child, have done with your rue and tears, you are come blessedly to our safekeeping. And these two others, Father Lawrence?”

“Sisters, my eminent Superior, Denise and Louisette. Denise is blessed with wheat colored tresses and this delicious pink skin your sharp eyes doubtless have already marked, while Louisette has hair the hue of copper, and her gray-green eyes are clear as those of the purest angel, for, like Denise, she is virga intacta.”

“All three, then, are French?”

“By birth, indeed, worthy Superior. I have taught them all some little English to aid them through the period of novitiatehood.”

“We shall teach them a great deal more, and of Latin also, since French stems from the mother tongue of Mother Church,” the Father Superior chuckled. “Yet why do these sisters wish enlightenment in a foreign land?”

“Their young brother had been stolen away and delivered up to the notorious Bey of Algiers as a slave. I met them in Calais, where they had journeyed from their distant little village to beg aid from some valiant and courageous ship captain who would sail them to the Bey's port there to implore his release from that despotic ruler. And I told them that here, where we have parishioners who give gold pieces to the furtherance of good and holy works, they might well find the aid they prayed for.”

“Ah, you have done heroically, and you need not apply the lowly term of novice to your station, good priest – quadruply welcome, for yourself and these three immaculate virgins without sin who come under your protective wing to take shelter at St. Thaddeus. But come, we are preparing the evening meal, and you four shall sit at my right hand and partake of our hospitality and our company, so that these tender maids will be accustomed to our joviality. For our order of St. Thaddeus, whatever you may have heard of its disposition, is not a gathering of hellfire and brimstone-breathing priests who never smile or never see good things in a blade of grass or a rising star, but rather of hale and hearty men under the black robe linked in a felicitous congress to enlighten and fortify the timid novice with their own amiable and valorous spirits.”

In French, Marisia murmured to Father Lawrence, “What is all that he says?”

To which the English ecclesiastic replied, in as low a voice, “It is like the bait for the mouse which the waiting cat spreads out. Pay it little heed, but be wary of all such lengthy orations in the name of welcome.”

“What are you saying to the child, the one you call Marisia?” the Father Superior now interposed.

“Why, my eminent head of the order, only that she might cross all the seven seas and never again hear so fulsome a welcome which is benediction and graciousness made one.”

“You are fluent in several tongues, and I foresee you will be a valued adjunct to our humble tasks here at St. Thaddeus,” the Father Superior remarked with the most pleasant of tones. “Come now, you must meet the company.”

But hardly had all of us gone but a few steps towards the edifice which stood just beyond the gate than the Father Superior chuckled, “Ah, your vigorous ringing of our bell has startled some of the others. There is Father Clement, and also Father Ambrose.”

Turning to his wards, Father Lawrence murmured in French, “These are the dangerous ones, all three; be on your utmost vigilance when they approach you, my daughters.”

“Good evening, good eventide and be welcome to our seminary,” I heard the sonorous voice of Father Ambrose, the short, stout, somewhat corpulent priest who had been first to convert Bella somewhat in advance of her entry into this gentle abode of succor and sanctity to wayward girls, orphans and timid virgins.

Quickly Father Lawrence introduced his wards, and to Father Clement, the man of red hair and the bludgeoning prick who had possessed sweet Bella after the Father Superior and, as I recall, given that tender damsel such a test as to cause her to faint, even though she had previously been able to support the first two holy men within her sensitive lovechasm.

“What cherubims, what angels,” Father Ambrose sighed, “such sweet additions to our order! They are virgins?”

“I can attest to it, since I have protected them from bodily harm and mortal sin since my first days in that village of Provence and then most lately in Calais, and as was imperative upon me, made them bring me their confessions,” Father Lawrence declared.

“Oh, what bliss it will be to instruct them in the arts of their novitiatehood,” gasped the fat priest, whose wheezing breath told me that he was already savagely in a ruttish state at the mere thought of prying apart the tender rosy petals of those three maidenly cuntholes.

Father Clement, too, added his own admiring observations, so it was plain that Marisia, Denise and Louisette already had three hugely potent admirers and that if Father Lawrence should decide to quit his duties as their guardian, they would not at all be left friendless and without sponsors.

At the refectory, a chorused cry of acclaim rose from the already seated priests at the sight of the lovely trio. The Father Superior, taking his place at the head of the long wide festal board, called for silence and declared that St. Thaddeus was renowned for its hospitality to those of unhappy circumstances and since these three charming maidens had come to fling themselves at the door of the seminary to seek protection, he would impose a solemn oath on all his colleagues to gratify their most earnest wishes.

Father Lawrence was introduced with effusive praise by the Superior as the man who had crossed the stormy Channel to conduct these timid virgins safely to the fold of righteousness, and then all fell to most heartily, as the swallowings and chompings and gasps of good cheer rose in that merry room.

I gathered that the priests were served by handmaidens, as was the custom when I could observe with my own keen vision, because midway through the soup, Father Lawrence exclaimed, “If St. Thaddeus can boast of such lovely novices, then I am all the more grateful for my assignment to this holy order!”

“This, good colleague,” said the Superior in an engaging tone, “is our sweet Bella, who is unsurpassed in caring for each of us as if we were her actual progenitors. She knows us one and all and has taken our measure of devotion. Fifteen sweet summers have rested lightly on her plump white shoulders, but she has already shown the patience and generosity of a bride twice that age.”

Yet from the envious ardor in his voice, I guessed that, overly familiar with plump young Bella's luscious charms, he was already smacking his lips in anticipation of comparing the more nubile and surely purer beauties of Marisia, Denise and Louisette. “They are French,” he explained to the other priests.

“That explains why they do not speak but shyly gaze at us and wink their lovely eyes,” Father Clement proposed, amid a roar of laughter.

“The question, methinks, is not are they, but do they?” spoke up a lean, nearly bald priest in his mid-thirties, named Father Diomedes. And this salacious quip drew redoubled roars of Homeric laughter. Yes, it all came back to me; I could recall the voice, the quips of each.

No, St. Thaddeus had not much changed from my days of freedom in its boundaries.

“That, dear Father Gregory, may be incorporated in the catechism to be taught these lovely creatures,” observed the Father Superior. “But here comes the fair Julia with the roast!”

Julia Delmont, ravished by her own sensual father, upon his demise had been taken into the holy order with her dear friend Bella, and you will recall that I had witnessed their initiation which made numerably sure they were 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.