The Lascivious Monk

CHAPTER IV. Little Theresa

The little girl hesitated a moment when she reached the doorstep of the priestly bedroom.

“Oh, my dear child, don't be afraid,” said the priest, “you are here in the presence of the Lord, the house is next to His sanctuary and His angels will protect you.”

The little girl entered. As a matter of fact, she seemed to be determined! Her eyes sparkled curiously, her cheeks were deep red, and her breasts heaved.

The priest was immediately aware of her situation. And she looked so pretty and appetizing, this fifteen-year-old child who was so naively trusting.

Father Pineraide sat down and pulled the little girl toward him. She tried to kneel in front of him.

“No, not that way!” exclaimed the priest. “That would be too tiresome for you. Here, just sit down upon my lap. It's really quite simple…”

“What? You want to…”

“But, why not? Aren't you my daughter? Am I not your father confessor? Well then? Is it so impossible for a father to listen to his daughter while she is sitting on his lap?”

“I… I don't think so.”

“Well, then, sit down!”

And he picked her up by the waist.

“There. Are you comfortable?”

“But, pastor… sorry, I mean to say, Father… I don't know what's happening to me. Your knee feels as if it is on fire… and your arm around my waist… it, it feels so strange. No, not your arm… I mean, it's me. It makes me feel so giddy.”

“That happens to be the sensation caused by the members of the Men of God, my dear child. It's nothing to worry about. The divine presence within us makes itself felt with this comfortable, warm glow. Relax and enjoy it. It happens to all of God's children that are touched by His priests. But now, my dear child, I am ready to hear your confession. Don't hesitate to tell me every little detail of the great sin you committed which made you run to the shelter of my protection. But first, what's your name… I mean, your first name?” Theresa…”

“That is a charming name. Very charming. I like that name very much. All right, Theresa, start talking… I am listening.”

“Oh, my Father… I…”

“Don't call me Father. That is no longer necessary…”

And, touching her breast, slowly squeezing a hardening little nipple, he whispered in her ear, “Call me… Anatole… that's my first name…”

“Oh, I would never dare… well, all right. It's like this… ah…”

“Anatole.”

“Ah… Anatole…”

“That's right.”

“For the first time in my life… I… I have… touched myself…”

“What do you mean by that?” asked the priest, whose prick was getting very hard because of the warm touch of Theresa's young buttocks.

“I mean,” the young girl went on, “that when you patted me on the cheek this morning, I began to feel so funny that I had to run upstairs, lock myself into my room and… well, as I said… I touched myself.”

“Where?”

“There!” said Theresa, pointing at the center of her lovely, young body.

“Ah! There!” the priest said, his eyes following the gaze of the young maiden. “I see… there… and, may I ask, with which finger?”

“This one, dear Father.”

“Anatole…”

“This one, Anatole,” the child said obediently, showing him her finger.

“Aah, that one!” Pineraide exclaimed. “I just have to kiss it, my child. It's the only way to absolve you from your sin.”

And his eager lips sucked at Theresa's finger.

“It must have been a terrible sin… I mean, it was a pretty nasty thing I did, wasn't it…?”

“A grave sin, yes; but definitely not nasty. Especially not if the dear Lord granted you favorable results.”

“What do you mean by 'favorable results'?”

“I mean, if God has permitted you to enjoy it.”

“Oh, did He ever! Oh, yes, I am sure… I mean… I must have been quaking for at least five minutes!”

“And is that the only grave sin you have ever committed in your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“You have never seen a man?”

“No, never.”

“Aha! You are still a virgin?”

“Yes, a virgin!”

“In that case I think you deserve forgiveness.”

“Are you going to give me absolution?”

“Yes, my… child… yes, dear, dear child… oh, yes, my love. You deserve a good absolution more than anyone else. Because, after all, isn't it my fault, too, that you have so gravely and uselessly sinned? But before I absolve you, before I impart God's good Grace upon your soul, I must convince myself that you are truly a virgin.”

“But how can you do that?”

“Ah, my dear child. A priest knows how to do that. God has given us for that purpose a second face.”

And he pulled the tender child closer to his broad chest, held her there firmly with one arm, his free hand unbuttoning her blouse.

“For the love of God, what are you doing?” cried the girl.

“The same thing someone once did for Mary Magdalene. I only want to make sure that the melons of the Archangel Gabriel are still in good condition.”

“Whose melons?”

“Yes! There they are! Your breasts… those charming, exciting little tits! Right there! Both of them! Ooh, God, how nice and tiny. And those nipples! Dear Lord in Heaven! They're ripe, full and firm, waiting to be plucked by your humble gardener… ooh, I want to kiss them, like this, and this and this… I could suck them and bite them and nibble those delicious little boobies forever and ever!”

The priest went wild, and Theresa let her head fall in a swoon against the good father's sturdy shoulder. He continued to tickle the tips of her tiny breasts with his hot tongue.

“Aah,” the young thing sighed, “your tongue burns like fire and… your hot breath… makes me feel… again… exactly like I felt this morning…”

Pineraide understood that it was no longer necessary to act his little game.

It was obvious that the young lady had come to see him for one purpose only. She was going to test his virility, and at the same time she wanted to enjoy the pleasures of love herself.

The smell of the virginal flesh made his head spin. He quickly lifted the skirt and petticoat of his young sinner.

The girl struggled only because good manners demanded that she do so. She sighed deeply and whispered, almost inaudibly, “Oh dear God and Saints in Heaven, help me.”

“Let's go on with the absolution,” the priest said, throwing the last garment on the floor.

And, since he now held the naked girl in his arms, he threw off his cassock, revealing his prick which seemed heavier, bigger and harder than it had ever been before.

“And that, my little daughter, is the holy water brush with which I shall sprinkle you.”

“That's a brush?” Theresa whispered, while she curiously looked at the big, twitching thing. “I don't see any hairs on it.”

“That is unimportant, my child; the main thing is that it is well equipped to sprinkle those penitents who want to be blessed.”

“Oh, please, please… bless me!” little Theresa exclaimed, throwing herself upon her knees, her hands imploring.

Father Pineraide began to laugh; he bent over the little girl and lifted her up high, light as a feather she was. He held her in his arms.

“You still haven't understood, have you, adorable creature. I am not going to sprinkle you the way you think. Do you believe that God has created a desirable body like yours just to be sprinkled with a few miserable drops of holy water? No, my dear, with seed and fucking… that was His intention. I am going to flood these tits, this body and that pussy, that divine cunt of yours with gobs of come. And this holy water brush… yes, this brush which God has entrusted to me to please all the female penitents of this town… is the magic wand which imparts to all courageous penitents heavenly delights and passion. It will bring joy to all those who are not afraid of its fury. In short, my dear child, you are beholding a prick without which mankind would die out and which is the natural staff which God has given to man to people this world and multiply.”

“Aah, such a holy water brush…” Theresa whispered. “I can feel it against my thighs. What are you going to do with it?”

“You will see in a minute,” groaned the priest in a paroxysm of passion, carrying the little girl toward his bed.

He put her down upon the edge of the bed, her little feet dangling freely. Then he knelt down and carefully spread the young girl's legs. She closed her eyes with a happy smile and let him do whatever he wanted. He looked at her tiny pussy which began to show a shadow of blonde hairs. It was very little, extremely tight, and the lips were firmly closed…

The priest, hesitantly, tried to worm one finger into it to see if he could penetrate.

But Theresa's outcry made him stop. “Ouch! You are hurting me… dear Anatole!”

Aha! A finger, a simple finger made her scream out in pain. No doubt, she was truly a virgin. But would his big prick be able to drill through that narrow little tunnel? The mere thought made the priest's hard-on painfully stiff. And to make the cunt which he desired so badly more pliable, the good father began to lick it. Slowly the lips parted, and the rosy knob inside became visible. He flicked his tongue against the little knob. Theresa groaned with pleasure and her hips began to undulate.

“Ooh, that feels marvelous,” she grunted, “please, don't stop. Go on, my dearest Anatole.”

“Yes,” answered the priest, jumping up from his kneeling position, “I will go on… hold on to me… the brush is beginning to work.”

He grabbed Theresa's legs and threw them across his shoulders, while he knelt on the edge of the bed. This, by the way, is a position made for deflowering a virgin. Then he took a firm hold of the young girl's buttocks and he maneuvered her so that her little moist hole was in a comfortable position. With technical perfection he brought the tip of his prick against the opening of her cunt and, holding on firmly to her tiny buttocks, he rammed his entire pole deeply into his little partner's belly with one violent jerk of his hips. The moment he had it in, he came.

Even though the penetration had been quick, the pain was terrible. The little girl felt as if her flesh had been torn apart, and she could still feel the warm trickle of blood. She could not hold back her tears, and Father Pineraide lapped them eagerly off her eyelids. He was stretched out on top of her and enjoyed feeling his big prick firmly embedded in her warm, soft hole.

Theresa had thrown her legs around his hips and she pressed herself closely against him. Slowly the pain ebbed away and the after-spasms of the priest's huge cock in her cunt gave her a new feeling which was sweet and indescribably delicious. She had stopped crying altogether and was exchanging fervent tongue kisses with the priest. She sighed again, with lust and desire, and began to wiggle her little behind back and forth. The rocking motions began to harden Pineraide's prick which was still deep inside her pussy. Suddenly Theresa threw her arms around his neck and began to shove her young body up and down, back and forth. Her body shook, and she screamed loudly, “Ooh… now… quick… deeper, my dearest Anatole. You have taken my cherry but now I want you to fuck me again! Please… please… I want to come… I want to come, just like Mother did last night… I want to come and scream and faint, just like Mama… please, screw me as hard and deep and long as you want!”

And she did come, the lucky little girl. Three times. As a matter of fact, the third time she came, the priest literally fucked the shit out of her and she plastered the bedsheet with a considerable pile of turds. That was the finale of the love bout. Father Pineraide had finally gotten firsthand carnal knowledge of the woman.

It gave him something to think about, though, and he came up with the following deep observation. With a man, the pleasure is not as sweet, not as long-lasting and, maybe, not as natural. However, it has one indisputable benefit. During the screwing, the asshole is thoroughly stopped up, and you don't have to be afraid of getting shit all over your bed.

There is something to say for that. What do you think?