Rogue though he might be, this virile and robust English ecclesiastic, he was surely an honest one; and I, who have seen much skullduggery and slyly insinuating hypocrisy in this world which the great Voltaire once cynically termed as the best of all possible ones, would not give you tuppence for a Machiavelli as against a brigand who forthwith declared his felonious intentions. Besides, having witnessed too many scenes of licentiousness at the Seminary which we were rapidly approaching, I had decided to champion Father Lawrence against the horde of well-fed, complacent, worldly prelates who would assuredly seek to best this novice priest in their midst by making off with all the sensual spoils – that is, and as the French say, ca va sans dire, could I but manage to fly out of this intolerable locket.
“Oh, I will remember it, mon Pere,” sweet Marisia sighed, “for I have no one in the world save you to comfort me.”
“Spoken like a grateful and devout daughter, dear child! Now it is paramount that you and your new friends Denise and Louisette learn as quickly as you can some of the vagaries of our English tongue, so you will not be at too great a disadvantage before my colleagues, who are eloquent in that language as they are in Latin. And there are even some who will roll out and thunder forth the most sonorous of Latin tags, thus thinking to impress and convert you to their doctrines. Be on your guard, my daughter, and when you find yourself before an imponderable dilemma, say to them, 'I have taken a vow of chastity, Your Reverence.' Let me hear your sweet rosy lips intone those words, Marisia.”
Whereupon the raven-haired maiden echoed the sentiment with the most charming, lisping French accent, and I felt that, given her inherent sauciness and naively inventive gifts, she might yet escape the odious fate that had befallen the by now thoroughly fucked-out Julia and Bella. And yet the perils Marisia faced were legion, for how could she, with all the spoken vows upholding chastity she might conjure up at the imminent moment of her deliverance from virginity, gainsay the ravening hunger of these seminary monks whose penchant for tasty, fresh, unsullied cunt surpassed even their appetite for good food and drink?
“Oh, admirable, my daughter,” he delightedly exclaimed, “and if your new friends learn only that supplicatory phrase, they too may hope to save their cherries from being devoured by those who would think only of their own selfish gustatory pleasures and not one whit about the immortal souls of the maidens from whom they plunder such sweet tidbits!”
As if to answer my own unspoken – and, even if spoken, surely impossible of hearing by human ears – Father Lawrence expatiated on this theme: “For, look you, Marisia my daughter, there is a virtue in what might be called passive resistance to adversity. When danger threatens and the odds are seemingly insuperable, the meek answer turneth away wrath. Now, who could fault you on your precocious devoutness if, when it seemed inevitable that the possessor of some angrily throbbing, violently swollen cock would not be satisfied till he had plunged that fearsome tool into the floss-veiled niche of your virgin pussy, you were to lower your modesty as befits a gentle, inexperienced maiden, and say, 'Oh, I must not, Your Reverence, because I have taken a vow the breaking of which would imperil my hope of redemption!' Oh, no, my daughter, in the face of such humility and piety, only the most unprincipled of villains not fit to wear the black of the holy order could dare to spurn your petitioning and force himself, huffing and puffing and his face crimson from immodest congestion, into the sanctorum!”
“I perceive your drift, mon Pere,” Marisia answered thoughtfully, “but I am only a frail girl, hardly out of puberty. How could I refuse a goodly man, the more so if he waxed fearfully irate with me for my disobedience?”
Could it be that this untutored peasant girl had already anticipated the wisdom of a newer adage that holds that when rape is inevitable, 'tis well to submit and enjoy it out of sheer discretion? Oh, clever, guileful, virginal Marisia, prize among maidens, who would fain eat her cake and have it too!
“In my own turn, sweet child, I discern your meaning,” Father Lawrence responded. “But remember the stripling David bested mighty Goliath, champion of the Philistines, by employing both prayer and stratagem. And even then, if all else fails, consider that when one is overpowered in spite of every ruse and supplication, the sin is lifted to repose squarely on the shoulders of the brutal seducer who is too callous to be moved by prayerful entreaty or tearful timidity.”
“Oh, mon Pere,” Marisia's fertile young mind was not yet done with this theoretical embroidering, “I am comforted by your words, and yet it greatly troubles me to think that even if I am overpowered against my will and, as you say, am not capable of mortal sin, my frail body may experience improper yearnings roused by the very force that overtakes me. What then, mon Pere?”
“Why, then, my daughter,” he said after a moment's pondering, “you are still blameless, for without the brutal usage of force against your tender cunt, you would not experience these naughty emotions of your own virginal accord. But one last question, my dear child – have you yet come to the curse visited upon Eve, by which I mean your monthly time when nature compels you to reject even the most desirable of suitors?”
Marisia giggled. “Oh, oui, oui, mon Pere, mon temps de la lune, oui, only a month before I came to stay with Tante Laurette, it came upon me.”
“Ah,” he joyously exclaimed, “then here is your stratagem to oppose brute force. Only the least fastidious of rogerers would wreak his heinous will upon a virgin cunt, for then he would find two separate Sowings of bright red blood to staunch. So, Marisia, tell your impassioned lecher that the curse is upon you.”
“Oh, I will mon Pere! But you must contrive to fuck me before that time,” Marisia cooed. Again she did seem to sway against him, and he coughed, doubtless to hide his emotion in the face of so sweetly gracious a plea.
After a solemn pause, he ended this tremendously weighty discourse by murmuring to his raven-haired ward, “You must manage to indoctrinate your companions Denise and Louisette as to all these manifestations of chastity, my child. And tonight you must aid them in completing their tally of pussyhairs, for a reason that I have devised as you well can guess and which will keep all three of you from what I believe to be immediate risk of being sullied too early in your estate as novices. Now let us close our eyes and drowse a bit so that the tedious journey will not overtax our energies, my dear Marisia.”
Denise and Louisette in their corner of the coach had been chatting away in a low voice which I could scarcely hear, but I was not altogether certain their topic was the beauty of the English countryside. The coach jogged on, and I myself sought to drowse, for sleep knitteth up the raveled sleeve of care, as good Shakespeare once said it, and by sleep perchance I might manage to forget for the nonce the pussyhairs of dear Laurette which had begun to tickle and stab me each time I was buffeted about in my locket-prison.
Much later, when I did waken – finding that I had happily been able to forget my cares for a lengthy time – I heard the drone of Father Lawrence's voice, and discerned that he was once again engaged in teaching English to sweet Marisia. There were endless repetitions of phrases, echoed by her exquisitely timbered voice with that inimitable Gallic accent which made her the more provocative, such as, “Oh, no, I cannot, Your Reverence” and “Do not force me, Your Eminence, I am but a frail and humble maiden” and, finally, “My parents taught me obedience to my betters, Your Reverence, but, alas, this day I have the curse.”
“Oh, what a pair were the English ecclesiastic and the naive French nymphet! I began at last to lose the dismal gloom which had fallen over me in believing that I was brought back inexorably by the will of an unkind fate to the Seminary of St. Thaddeus. Indeed, when the driver of the coach bellowed, “All out for Somerset,” I confess I was almost anxious to hear the resumption of this English lesson, to say nothing of following closely the tallying of maiden love fronds! There is nothing quite so exciting, so thrilling, even to a flea, as the prospect of counting the cute, curly cunt hairs of a creature crying for congratulations upon carrying out the act of coming under the carnal influence of a cadaverous cock.