GC-413 Satyr Priest
by Marta Sumner 1969


INTRODUCTION

by Maximillian Little, Ph.D.

The nineteenth century in Spain was a period of great political turmoil. 
As is only too normal under such circumstances, it was the royalty which 
itself divided the country into factions and tore brother from brother, 
children from parents, according to their political philosophies. Isabella 
was queen of Spain from 1833 to 1868; the early period she held her title 
under the regency of her mother. Her reign, from the beginning, however, 
was interrupted by challenges from her father’s brother, Don Carlos, who 
with his followers raged bitter war for six years against his niece and her
legitimate government. Carlos would have been king at the death of his 
brother Ferdinand had not Ferdinand, shortly before his death, changed the 
laws of succession so that his daughter might follow him to the throne.

But more than the entanglements of family hatred helped to throw Spanish 
politics, indeed much of Spanish life, into a turmoil. The nineteenth 
century in Spain, as throughout Europe, was a period of transition and 
confusion. Lines of succession were the least of man’s newly discovered 
problems. The century had begun by the march of Napoleon across Europe, 
destroying not only towns and borders, but institutions which still 
survived the mind-opening challenges of the renaissance in no matter what 
part of the continent. Europe was still, even in the nineteenth century, a 
world in which medieval customs flourished, and medieval nobility and 
royalty ruled. Bonaparte had begun the process of rebuilding Europe across 
new lines. He had come to power after the revolution in a France which, by 
guillotining those who had held power, was forced to create a new 
traditionless class of governors for itself. In the struggle for power, 
many non-noble and non-royal individuals had fought each other to rise to 
the top. Among these, then soon the first among them, was Napoleon, an army
corporal, whose brilliant military maneuvering suggested the brilliance 
with which he might run a state. That Napoleon failed is of no importance 
here; what matters is the world in which he lived, which he helped create, 
a world wherein an irrelevant corporal could rise to the heights of 
emperor.

All the established values had been destroyed. The God-given rights of 
nobility had disappeared; reason was in control—or the rhetoric of the 
traditionless modem classes which passed for reason. For from our point of 
view, many of their arguments are difficult to understand, especially since
many of the greatest minds of the period are only now being understood by 
any broad number of people.

But to return to Spain. Less of a seething cauldron than France or the 
rest of its continental neighbors by virtue of being physically separated 
from them out on the tip of Europe, the Iberian peninsula, Spain 
nevertheless felt the brunt of new concepts which had reached the minds of 
even the common citizen. Furthermore, since so much of power is, and always
has been, economic, and since the new technology of the nineteenth century 
was beginning to create a class of industrialist manufacturers, the common 
citizen could rise from the lowest echelons of society and find a place in 
the decision-making processes of government. He could attempt to place into
practice the faculties of reason he had discovered, and attempt to guide 
the world, or at least his tiny segment of it therewith.

This struggle for power, by whom no matter, combined with the in-fighting
by the aristocracy, resulted in three major factions when Isabella came to 
the throne. The extreme reactionaries, those who dreamed of ancient days 
when there was a careful order in the nature of things, and the divine 
right of kings was a practice handed on to each generation, included of 
course the Carlists—followers of Don Carlos. Wishing to continue the line 
through male heirs was merely his diplomatic excuse for his hungry search 
for power. His followers included a large number of aristocrats, but many 
of the newly affluent also saw in Don Carlos’ reactionary politics the 
chance to enjoy their new-found wealth without the fear of a continual 
struggle with those classes beneath them on the economic scale who were 
pushing them off the top as they themselves had removed quivering 
aristocrats from positions of power in previous years. Also opposed to 
Isabella were the moderates and the progressives; this class, comprised 
mainly of declasse aristocrats and the new professional classes, as well as
the technocrats who were just beginning to come to power, advocated a 
democratic monarchy, limited by a constitution and based on popular 
support. They were a half-way group, sufficiently committed to the growing 
good of Spain to consider demands for social reform as serious popular 
grievances, but too seriously wedged in their personal rise to power to 
control their hunger for position and strength. When in fact they gained 
that position, when there was a possibility of good growing from the 
philosophies they mouthed, they found themselves growing dictatorial and 
every bit as oppressive as the reactionary Carlists were in those regions 
they controlled. No social reforms were instituted, and some who felt that 
Spain’s best interests lay with moderation and progressive development and 
amelioration became deeply disillusioned; they were forced to join that 
group, already outside the system of Spanish politics, made up of outcasts 
and visionaries, the Republicans. The basic demand of this radical group 
was that the monarchy itself be discarded and the people of Spain be 
allowed to rule the country. This, of course, was a revolutionary demand of
phenomenal proportions. It tampered not only with the political system born
out of feudal times and suckled in the Golden Age, it also would tear 
asunder the bases of religion: if God’s will was denied by taking from Him 
the right to appoint the royal house, then God no longer held sway in 
Spain. The total integration of the Church and the State, even as late as 
the rational nineteenth century, could not be torn apart without destroying
virtually every institution on which the land was founded. Yet this was 
precisely the wish of the Republicans; only thereby could they wrest from 
power those whom they felt were destroying Spain by sucking the blood from 
those who had ever made Spain great, its hardworking masses. If their 
argument sounds Marxist, there is every reason it should, for in the middle
of the nineteenth century, in 1848, there appeared a document which was 
destined to stand not only Spain but much of the earth on its head, The 
Communist Manifesto. In this broadsheet, Marx, together with Friederich 
Engels, demanded that the lowest classes of society stand together and 
destroy the masters of the machine, tear the power from the remaining 
aristocrats who were rich through no activity of their own. Those who 
control the production of goods, the workers, should themselves hold the 
nation’s and world’s power in their own hands.

It is in this world that Marta Sumner places her hero-priest, Don Manuel.
He has come to a small village somewhere in Spain, recently departed from 
the conservatory where he had been under the tutelage of priests since a 
very young age. His training had consisted totally of the manners of the 
spirit. He had always lived in fear and love of his God. The story deals 
with disproving the Jesuits’ tenet, that if they are given a child until 
the age of seven, they will have him forever. And yet, paradoxically, the 
story deals with proving this to be true. For Don Manuel does both: insofar
as he carries out his learned love and fear for God he remains an excellent
priest; and insofar as he leaves the idiom of the spirit and turns to the 
flesh to teach his flock, he is a child of the nineteenth century 
individualism, of reason turned on its teacher.

The paradox is important. It is the underlying continuity of the 
narrative. On the one hand, all of Manuel’s actions are carried out in the 
name of his Christian education. He teaches that love of one’s fellow man 
and woman is a direct commandment from God, hurled down as by thunderbolt 
to show the commonest among His people that the lowliest priest can be His 
instrument on earth. And the people of the village accept him as a man of 
God precisely for this reason. Their trust in him is complete, for he is to
them the absolute representative of God on earth. He alone chooses the 
idiom with which to present God.

But it is precisely his choice of idiom which goes beyond the education 
that has brought him to the village. He chooses to portray God’s love in 
its physical formulation. The physical, he reasons, leads directly to the 
spiritual. And most importantly, it is terribly difficult to understand the
spiritual nature of God’s love without some correlation in daily life; the 
average village peasant can understand little more than daily activity—it 
is for the village priest to link the idiom of daily life with the sense of
the transcendent presence of God in daily affairs. Precisely this activity 
is characteristic of nineteenth century man: To combine old contexts with 
new modes of expression, to link old forms with new idioms.

It is important to watch the progression of Don Manuel’s lessons in terms
of his subjects. As it is necessary to realize that it is in the village 
itself, and from the people themselves, that he learns to conduct his 
lessons of love through the flesh. For an important aspect of nineteenth 
century social structure is the principle of immediacy, of what came in 
America to be called the grass-roots nature of involvement. It would of 
course have been impossible for Don Manuel to give consideration for love 
through the flesh in his early training; not only would it have been 
seriously discouraged had he come to such conclusions, more importantly he 
would never had had occasion from empirical experience to consider this 
aspect of love. So he must wait until he arrives in the village, until he 
finds a group of people, completely naive in the ways of love of God (for 
there had not been a priest in the village for a considerable period of 
time), and completely open to a novel expression of love. This is not to 
say that the villagers were unaware of sexuality; indeed, they partook of 
sex as do normal people everywhere. But, through the priest, they learned 
of the relationship between physical love and the love for one’s fellow man
through which one can come to God.

It is then appropriate that the Duchess of the village herself is the one
who introduces Don Manuel to physical expression. She is an older woman, 
probably in her late thirties, who entices the priest for reasons other 
than spiritual; yet when the priest realizes he can turn her advances, 
indeed her seductions, into an object lesson for the lady, he turns her 
lust into an instrument of truth. It is in fact difficult for the Duchess 
to separate sensuality from a physical expression of her love of God, and, 
like a shunted lover, she haunts the novel’s later pages in search of the 
priest who pleased her too well as a human being for her to see the holy 
aspects of his caresses.

The priest then turns his lessons to younger women, young wives who are 
merely objects of their husbands’ lust. This category of students the 
priest finds he can do more with in terms of bringing them closer to God; 
less distorted by their previous sexual experience, the women are capable, 
in varying degrees, of shifting their understanding of the meaning of 
physical love, thereby understanding also the lesson Don Manuel is 
attempting to teach. Under his tutelage they can either return to their 
husbands prepared to carry out the points of his tutelage and live in 
harmonious union with their mates, or at the very least come to an 
understanding of their husbands’ inadequacies. Lessons well taught will 
become principles the students live by, and further, will be the logic 
behind each student’s lesson when he or she becomes the teacher.

Logically, therefore, it must be to children that the priest turns in the
end, for only those who have not been destroyed by the village’s limited 
world, in terms of their appreciation of experience, can become true 
teachers of others. Don Manuel’s lessons to them, to avoid lust and to love
each other in every way as children of God, is the goal of all human 
interaction for Don Manuel.

There is, however, another way to read the book—as the expression of 
hypocrisy of the nineteenth century church. It could be said that here is a
true satyr priest, as the title would have it, destructive of the sexual 
mores of a village, destructive of the social forms of a world. Certainly 
the priest does destroy patterns which have for centuries been the 
institution of Spain, which have been the basic accessory of Spain’s smooth
functioning. But the novel is carefully not placed in medieval Spain. The 
characters, to their greater and lesser knowledge, are caught up in the 
intrigue of a period of turmoil. In the background one senses uprisings, 
espionage, dictatorships, coups d’etat. The queen herself is brought into 
the novel as one to whom Don Manuel attempts to teach the ways of God. In 
fact her abdication in 1868, the year the novel ends, is strongly suggested
to be caused in part by her activities with Don Manuel. Certainly the 
priest himself, discovered and condemned for his activities, and his 
teachings, is punished according to the demands of the old trappings of 
Spanish society. It is always the old ways which rule a country’s morality;
but morality itself is a changing constant, at least in its outer 
appearance, and those who attempt to hold onto old trappings of morality 
without considering the foundations on which morality is based, are the 
real reactionaries.

-Maximillian Little, Ph.D.

CHAPTER ONE

I begin this log on the fifteenth day of May in the year of our Lord 
Eighteen Hundred Sixty-seven, in penitence for the sin I so grievously 
committed against my Saviour this very afternoon. My transgression on this 
day was so great that I shall continue the penance for the rest of my days,
recording here my daily progress toward spiritual purity.

It all started out innocently enough when I was called away from the 
chapel by a young lad who rushed in through the front door in search of me.

“Father! Father!” he cried. “The bricklayer has fallen from his scaffold.
I fear that he is dead or, at least, dying.”

I quickly finished my benediction and rushed for my missal.

“Where is he?” I asked as I followed the lad out onto the plaza.

“At the Duke’s. The far wall,” he said, and hurried on.

I stopped short, my mouth gaping, for I had arrived in the village of 
Almansa less than a fortnight before, and I had not stepped foot on the 
steep road toward the castle. The town was my principal charge, and though 
it lay constantly in the shadow of the huge stone citadel, I doubted I 
would ever have much call to attend anyone within its gates.

First, a mansion of its size most generally had a friar in attendance and
there was little need for a simple village priest in a place so grand. The 
squalid houses of the townspeople hovered about the foot of the monstrous 
edifice which was built in the towering stone outcropping that rose from 
the floor of the valley. The stone and the castle itself were so 
irrevocably joined that one could scarcely tell where the rock ended and 
the mighty walls began.

And now I found myself stumbling along the cobblestone, rushing to keep 
up with the spirited lad. Though he was probably no more than seven years 
my junior, the weight of my habit, along with my unseemly height, kept me 
from keeping the pace he had set. At last, he despaired of hurrying me any 
more than I was already moving and dropped back to keep me company. I was 
glad of it, for my curiosity was boundless.

“Is there no friar in attendance?” I asked.

“Ho!” laughed the boy. “Even the chapel has been empty nearly a year 
until they sent you. This is poor country, sir, and not the most popular 
with the bishop, I’ll wager.”

“But surely the Duke and Duchess have need of an occasional confession,” 
I suggested.

He smiled at me patiently. “It is good that you have come, Father, for 
all in the village, as well as Almansa itself, have need of confession.”

“I have been keeping grievously busy in the little box,” I said wryly, 
hoping he would find merit in my humor.

He simply ignored it. “We have managed to celebrate the Mass weekly,” the
lad went on, “though not always on the Sabbath. The priest from Alacete 
came through every week until he broke his leg two weeks ago. Where did you
come from, Father?”

“I was sent from Madrid, but Barcelona was my home until it came time for
placement. I spent no more than a week in Madrid.”

“Some day, I shall go there,” he said proudly. “The Duke has promised it.
The next time the queen calls for my master, he has promised to take me.”

“Take care,” I warned. “There are many sins the flesh can fall heir to in
such a place.”

“Then I surely hope the call will come soon for I should like to try my 
luck with such earthy things before it is time to settle down and become 
pious.” His eyes twinkled so merrily that I could not be angry with him, 
but I was glad when we finally reached the top of the hill and entered the 
huge, walled courtyard. A cluster of workers told me where the hapless 
fellow lay and I hurried over and did what I could for the grieving widow 
and the soul of her departed.

As I lifted my head to the sky at the end of my communion, I noticed a 
woman peering down at me from a balcony just above. I, of course, gave no 
sign, since I had not given the benediction, but I was not surprised 
particularly when the lad came forward afterward and said that his mistress
would like to see me. Since I had no other excuse to enter the castle 
proper, I was more than a little excited at the prospect.

The architecture was moorish, built more like a fortress than a 
residence, and I was surprised how really grand the rooms were once the 
stern rock walls had been covered with fine Spanish tapestries. I was most 
surprised, however, when, after being led up a long series of stairs, to be
ushered into the lady’s private sitting room. I had never been in such a 
room before, and I admit I was a bit overwhelmed by the femininity of the 
decor.

“I am the Duchess of Almansa,” she said. “And you must be the new priest.
Father Don Manuel, is it not?”

My confoundment must have been obvious, for she laughed and said, “You 
didn’t think I would know your name, did you?”

“I am only a village priest,” I said lamely.

“You underestimate yourself, Father. Why, every young maid in my 
household is now worthless on Sunday morning. All of them are primping to 
run off to Mass. You have greatly impressed them.”

“I do hope it has not inconvenienced you,” I said with great agitation, 
for I imagined the woman could be spiteful indeed where she had a mind to 
take such a course.

She was not a young woman, though her hair was set in the ringlets so 
fashionable with the younger ladies of the court. She was slender and 
rather hawkish, with wrinkles beginning to set beneath the eyes.

“Of course I’m not angry,” she said soothingly. “I asked you up here to 
hear my confession, Father.”

“Why, certainly,” I said, and I got to my feet and bowed my head. “Would 
you care to start with your rosary?”

“Oh yes,” she whispered, and hurrying to the vanity, she scooped up her 
beads and quickly knelt before me.

“Hail Mary, Mother of Grace, pray for me,” she began, and I heard no 
more, for her hands raised up in supplication and pressed against the soft 
bulge at my crotch.

I was struck dumb, my feet firmly planted in quicksand and I was 
sinking—sinking into the mire, powerless to stop it.

She doesn’t realize, I told myself frantically, and looking down onto her
reverently-bowed head, I knew that if I moved even a fraction of an inch 
she would suddenly realize her faux pas and die of embarrassment. And so, 
dear Lord, I stood there and the devil’s own barbed nettles raced through 
my limbs and my flesh hardened and throbbed to her touch. She finished and 
began her confession but she did not move her hands.

“The flesh is weak, Father,” she moaned. “My husband has been sent to 
fight for his majesty and I am all alone. At night, I climb into my empty 
bed and my breasts ache for his sweet, tender caress. I am faint with 
desire.”

She raised her head and, with it, the edge of her supplicant hands rubbed
up the length of my hardness.

“Do you understand, Father?” she cried.

“I understand,” I moaned. “Go on.”

Again she bowed her head and her hands slid back down my throbbing organ.

“I have coveted,” she said mournfully, and wringing her hands heavily 
against me in the agitation of her great misery, she began to sob.

The feel of her, hard against me, was an agony to bear, but I could not 
hurt the poor distraught woman, for her sincerity was deeply touching, just
as her touch was deeply stimulating to my poor, weak body. Her hands 
quivered with consternation and she clasped them into a tight ball and 
leaned heavily against me.

“I have looked out my window and seen the young men—they are such virile 
young men—stripped to their waists. The sun glistens on their sweating 
bodies and their muscles strain and ripple and, Father, I want them so 
terribly! The bulge at their crotches causes my loins to weep bitter tears.
Can you understand such an earthy need, Father?” she whimpered miserably.

She looked up into my eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and 
though her hands had again sent weakening waves of fire flooding through 
me, I could not break her confession. Her heart was with God, and the spell
could not be broken.

“I can’t understand,” I answered, and the huskiness of my voice made me a
stranger to my own ears.

Her head bent again and her knotted grip slid down my groin, and I ached 
with such an all-consuming agony that I nearly moaned aloud. Then, her head
crushed forward to rest upon her clasped hands and the hardness of her pate
pressed against the sensitive tip of my organ. It was all I could do not to
clasp her tightly to me.

“Oh Father! It is a loathsome thing to want what one cannot have! It is 
terrible to want to feel the manly hardness in the Lord’s own feminine 
sanctuary, but I ache so and I need that filling love ardently. As dearly 
as I miss my husband, sometimes the very fact that the fruit is forbidden 
makes it almost irresistible. I do not know how much longer my strength can
endure. Oh! What shall I do?”

In her agony, she began twisting her head from side to side and her head 
played the devil’s own dance of fire against my aching flesh. Her hands 
wrung heavily against me, churning my fires until my knees began to shake 
and my body quivered violently against her. In her despair, thank the Lord,
she did not take notice.

“You must pray diligently for deliverance,” I whispered weakly. “Your 
ache is not a sin, dear Duchess. Only the coveting of what you cannot allow
yourself is a sin, and since you have not carried out your desires, I 
cannot heap penance on you other than diligent prayers.”

“Pray with me!” she pleaded, and her head slammed against me and her 
shaking hands pounded my meat and I could bear it no longer.

The devil took possession of my soul for a moment of weakness. As God is 
my witness, I had withstood the impossible for long, terrible minutes.

Pressing her head into my throbbing need, I began.

“Dear God!” I moaned as I rubbed against her. “Forgive us all, for we sin
daily.”

And I was delivered, my seed spurting into my habit as I moved quickly 
away.

CHAPTER TWO

May 16-17, 1867

I have this day visited every home in the village. I have worked myself 
into a state of exhaustion. My penitence is all-consuming. I wonder 
constantly what else I could have done for the poor woman. I am not sure 
where my sin lies, although I should have been able to have withstood 
whatever was done to me since I have steeled myself through a lifetime of 
chastity. This night, as I remembered her words and tried to think about 
all that happened I found myself again in a fever. This shames me 
grievously, and once I came close to even touching myself, God forbid. I 
showered, and the cold water revived me some, but I am going to have to 
return and talk with the good lady. God is not letting this rest, and 
whatever I am to say to her will surely come when I am there.

I have prayed about this matter diligently. God’s answer is plain. He 
would not keep this terrible fire recurring if I had but said the right 
thing to his innocent child while I took her confession.

I slept fitfully that night, and by morning I was furious to get my work 
over with and be done with the chores. Then, just as I was getting ready to
leave, a woman came to my door and her agitation was so great that although
she was crying too much to speak with me, I followed her across the village
and found the body of her young son where they had pulled him from the 
well. With summer coming on, the funeral could not wait, and we carried the
boy to the chapel and laid him out for a service that evening. Though my 
heart was faint with disobeying the directive the Lord had given me 
earlier, I was detained by an act of God, and therefore knew that it must 
be. When dusk fell, I was praying with the family and friends and it was 
pitch black by the time we trudged back from the cemetery. It was no time 
to start out for the castle.

I was tired enough that night that I fairly died when I laid my head down
to bed, but by morning, when I awoke, the nagging ache in my loins reminded
me of my duty, and I hurried through early prayers and set out to again 
climb the mountain.

The good lady was most happy to see me.

“You helped me so much, Father,” she said.

“I am glad,” I told her. “But somehow, the Lord has troubled me 
grievously since last we met and I am quite sure that either I did not say 
everything he wanted said to you, or you did not say it all to me.”

“It is I, Father,” she said, hanging her head shamefully. “I have worried
much that I did not fully confess all that was troubling my heart.”

Cautiously, I looked around and spied a chair and I walked over and sat 
down. I could not take the chance of another accidental confrontation with 
the devil. My flesh hardened in fear and consternation. She came to me and 
bowed her head and began her rosary.

I leaned forward to straighten myself and inadvertently my knees parted 
and she fell forward, her hand crushing against my already stiffened flesh.

“… forgive us sinners,” she continued as though nothing whatever had 
happened. Her hands were much heavier against me this time, since she was 
bracing herself against me. As I tried to squirm away, her hands, still 
pressed together at the fingertips, parted and either side pressed in to 
outline my aching organ. The sensations that engulfed me were irresistible.
I could not possibly fight the swell of fire that rushed through my entire 
body.

“And now, my confession,” she said huskily. “Yesterday, when you were so 
kind and so good, I confessed all that was in my heart to you, but even as 
I spoke, another hunger began to fill me. I longed desperately to bring 
pleasure and happiness to one as beautiful and pure as yourself. Oh, 
Father! I coveted your beautiful, manly body!”

I jumped back as though I’d been branded, and she stared up at me for a 
moment, seeing the shock that was mirrored in my face. I was ashamed. She 
had confessed a sin, and my look had condemned her.

“It is only your loneliness,” I assured her as gently as I could, but I 
rose from my chair, afraid that if I should remain seated she might return 
to her former position. I could stand little more. Already, I was short of 
breath.

“Now,” I said. “Let us pray together for the quick return of your 
husband.”

“Oh Father!” she cried. “You are the most understanding man I have ever 
met in my life!”

With a little cry of exaltation, she threw her arms about my thighs and 
pressed her cheek up against my hardened flesh.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she whimpered, rubbing her cheek 
absently against me. “Give me deep, difficult penance to do, Father. I 
shall do anything.”

“Dear lady,” I began, but before I could say more, she suddenly jumped 
back, startled and she stared up at my face and I knew that she had 
suddenly become aware of my shameful condition.

“Oh, Father!” she gasped. “It is all my fault. “Oh, I am so terribly 
sorry! I can’t tell you—Oh, Father, let me release you from the ache of 
your agony as my penance. Dear God, let me suffer in your behalf.”

Before I could protest, she had jerked up my habit and taken my organ 
into her hand.

“Ohhh!” I gasped stupidly, but I could not move even to push her away. 
Then, while I frantically tried to regain my control, she ducked beneath my
habit and put my organ to her lips. Before I could stop her, the poor, 
distraught woman had sucked my member into her mouth and I was moaning and 
groaning about like a wild, senseless animal. It was unspeakable.

As the Lord is my witness, my flesh had never before been touched by man 
or woman. I had been taught at the monastery since my sixth year and knew 
that to even touch myself in a lustful manner was forbidden. I honored this
edict as I honored all others. From my sixth year until a month ago, I had 
never so much as laid eyes upon a woman. And now, here I stood, no more 
than an animal, as my lustful excitement overwhelmed my body and dulled my 
brain. I felt as though my soul had burned to ashes.

“Lord, have mercy!” I cried as she sucked my flesh with such deep draws 
that it felt as though she were siphoning off my very life’s fluid.

Reaching back, I braced myself against the arms of the chair and slowly 
lowered my debilitated flesh into it, my legs being forced wide apart by 
the body pressed against me. I could not have stood another instant, and 
yet, now that I had fallen back into the chair, I was totally helpless, 
trapped between the woman and the chair.

She reached up to caress and knead the sac which hung from the edge of 
the seat, and then one arm encircled my body as she worked witches’ magic 
upon me.

How could she give of herself like this? Was she not groveling at my 
feet, grunting and slurping away like a wretched beast? How could she 
possibly lower herself in such a manner? Was she not, after all, a Duchess?

Then, the memory of her words, my penance came to me and in a flash of 
understanding, I realized that this was her gift of love to the Lord’s 
messenger. Like the devoted woman who poured her perfume upon Christ’s feet
and humbly dried them with her long hair, this woman was humbling herself 
before me, sucking my juices as her act of contrition. And, after all, 
could the Lord’s direction to give be fulfilled if there were not also the 
humble servant to receive the gift?

I gave myself up unto her then, lifting my bottom from the chair to push 
my manhood into her eager, suctioning lips. Her tongue fluttered against me
and I cried out my thanksgiving with deep appreciation and humility.

“Ahh!” I cried as my balls belched up their load and I spurted my seed 
into her siphoning hot, sweet mouth.

She drank my fluids with thirsting slurps, gulping them down as though 
she were receiving communion.

“This is my body! My blood! My life!” I whispered weakly unto her.

It was an earthshaking benediction, for I was shaking with such bursts of
fire that I collapsed completely and was unable to speak further for some 
time.

CHAPTER THREE

May 18-19, 1867

I gave the woman my blessing and told her that her act had been a 
selfless one, filled with humility and grace. She thanked me and we prayed 
together. Then I hurried back to my flock, though my knees were weak 
throughout the downhill journey. That night, after my lonely vespers, I 
went to my cubicle off the study and thought long of this revelation that 
had been given me. I did not fully understand it, but I spoke with my Lord 
and prayed for his forgiveness that I had so misunderstood her act of 
devotion during those first few moments. I prayed that my first shocked 
look had not offended either the woman or my God. Then I prayed for deeper 
understanding.

The next morning, I was attacked by a frightful nervousness, and none of 
my labors seemed to help abate it. As I walked through the narrow streets 
visiting my flock, I became miserably conscious of the nakedness of the 
little girls. I had cause to visit a woman to discuss the coming baptism of
her child and when she put the infant to her breast, the blood-veined, 
swollen flesh made my knees shake with fevered excitement. Several times, I
was on the verge of quitting my routine altogether. Perhaps the Duchess had
not truly forgiven herself for rousing my need. Perhaps the Lord was 
pricking me to return and ease her troubled heart. I could not be sure, and
since even the thought of her brought me to instant erection, I was not at 
all certain that I would not again require her services if I went to her. I
was in a dilemma that would not give me peace.

I returned to the chapel and, changing into a very old habit, set about 
cleaning the bricks which had been collected for the new church. They were 
old and covered with lime and mortar, but I slipped away diligently for the
rest of the day, accumulating a fairly large pile by dusk. Several of the 
men of the village stopped by to lend me a hand. It was a pleasant enough 
fellowship until one foul-mouthed braggart began to tell of his 
accomplishments with the ladies. His words greatly inflamed me. Those vile 
references to a woman’s crowning glory as tits angered me, and I told him 
so vehemently.

“You would not be here were it not for the succor given you at the breast
of a woman,” I told him. “How can you then degrade them with such a 
loathsome name?”

He looked up surprised.

“You mean tits, Father?” he asked incredulously.

“Certainly,” I answered coldly.

“But that’s what they are!” he exploded. “Why everyone calls them that—or
boobs, or—”

“That’s enough,” I said firmly. “They are breasts, and their purpose is 
certainly not solely for your pleasure.”

“Oh hell, yes!” the fellow answered, and he really seemed to be trying to
explain it all away, as though it were only an innocent remark. His eager, 
apologetic face gave me cause for much reflection.

“Father, I didn’t mean to shock you. The word is just a common one 
and—well, men who have not taken the vow of chastity kind of—er, enjoy 
them. You know. Tit is just a pet name—sort of.”

“And not meant to degrade a female?” I asked.

“Oh hell, no!” he said earnestly.

I smiled. “I see I have much to learn,” I said lightly and all of the men
laughed jovially.

When they had left, I mulled the afternoon’s events over in my mind. One 
point kept creeping into my consciousness, and it bothered me greatly. What
had the man meant when he mentioned chastity? Surely, when I had allowed 
the Duchess to give me release, I could not have broken my vows. My way had
been clear, dictated by the Lord himself. One could have nothing to do with
the other. I was no creature of lust. I doubted that I was even capable of 
such a craving. What I had felt with that woman working my flesh was such a
swelling elation of happiness that there could be no question of its 
source. Only in God was such happiness and divine glory possible.

Yet, over and over, a nagging little worry kept pricking at my brain and 
there seemed no way even to bring it out into the open where I could 
examine it. I fretted the better part of the night and all through the 
following day.

I felt that my experiences were bringing me closer to my flock, closer to
an understanding of how they could exist in such poverty and still laugh 
and praise God. I felt that I now saw reason in their lives and the 
understanding of their warmth and goodness filled me with such happiness 
that, had that one small lingering doubt evaporated, I would truly have 
reached paradise right here on earth.

All day, I longed to go to the Duchess, to speak with her of the glorious
enlightenment that she had brought me, but something held me back, and I 
stayed below in the dreary, squalid village, talking to the people and 
cleaning the bricks.

There was humility in the labor, and by nightfall my aching body was 
exhausted enough that I was able, at last, to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

May 20, 1867

The next morning she sent me a note. I was not surprised to read:

* * *

Father Don Manuel, Your kindness has made a new woman of me. I am free of
the terrible weakness. Now, I should like to have your help in planning a 
more godly life. Could you please come to me at three this afternoon.

Maria

* * *

I went to her eagerly, glad that my judgment had been sound. The thought 
had often occurred to me that I might be rationalizing rather than 
following the Lord’s divine plan. Now, I was sure that I had followed the 
right course.

I was led to her door by the lad who had fetched me that first day, and 
after knocking for me, he discreetly departed. The good lady opened the 
door herself.

I was a bit taken back to see her in a wrapper, but her smile was so very
radiant that I thought no more about it. She led me over to the fire and 
asked me to be seated. Then she drew a chair up across from me where she 
could look directly into my face as we spoke.

“Father, I want to begin with charity,” she said. “I just feel this 
tremendous urge to give. You can’t imagine how full is my heart.”

As she lifted her hands expressively, her wrapper loosened, showing a 
good deal of flesh. A trim ankle slipped from beneath her hem.

“I am so glad, good lady,” I said.

She began to speak of clothing for the poor, and asked all sorts of 
questions on what bolts of cloth she could order and how she could put her 
seamstress to best use. I could not keep my mind on her trend of thought or
dialogue because her movements so distracted me. Frequently, she would lean
forward, her breasts surging up from the loosely folded neckline until I 
could almost imagine the nipples peeking over the cloth. Then, she would 
squeeze her arms together in delight of some wonderful idea that had just 
occurred to her and her breasts would come together and rise up to an 
alarming decolletage. There was also the matter of her gown staying 
together at the hem, and where I had seen but an enticing ankle at the 
beginning, there was now an alarming amount of lovely white leg, fully 
exposed.

“Oh, Father, I shall enjoy it so,” she said, leaning over, she put her 
hands in mine. Our knees came together and those heavenly breasts were 
maddening as she leaned toward me and she continued to hold my hand as she 
went on.

“It is always better to give than to receive,” I said huskily.

“Yes, your life has been given in its entirety. How I envy you,” she 
said.

“Do not, madam,” I groaned. “It is not an easy life.”

“No, I understand that. In a way it is like my own, for I have given my 
husband, a very part of me, and it leaves me hollow and lonely here.”

Her hand nestled in the folds of her gown, pulling the neck dangerously 
low and I had the most hideous urge to reach over and touch the tender 
fullness. They looked so very silky as her chest rose and fell with her 
happy, excited breathing. The warmth and softness of her was delicious.

“Can I help with the chapel?” she asked.

“Oh, most certainly,” I answered mechanically, for my brain seemed fogged
and numb to all of her wonderful news.

“I shall work very hard but I must not forget my own soul, either. I have
prayed exactly as you directed me and, at least for a time, I should like 
to take confession at least once or twice a week. It seems there are so 
many things in the past that keep popping into my mind and it lays heavily 
upon my heart that I have never confessed them.”

At the word confession, a flash of sensation stabbed through me. I looked
into her eyes and saw the pureness of her intentions and the holiness of 
her aims, and I was sorely ashamed.

“You may always confess to me,” I told her with deep humility. “Any hour 
of the day or night, you have but to call.”

“Oh, Father,” she whispered, and taking my hand with both of hers she 
pressed it to her heart. “Your sweet goodness lifts me up until I am 
soaring with happiness.”

Her breasts now lay upon my hand and it made me weak with desire. She 
leaned over just a bit and I was almost fully surrounded by her flesh. The 
heat was inflaming, and as she moved, I found myself gaping down at the 
tenderly delicate pastel nipple. I was speechless. I was sure that she did 
not know that her body was exposed to me and the sweat was popping out on 
my brow as I fought off the terrible urge to touch, to feel, to mold with 
my hand that infinitely sensuous flesh.

“Does it thrill you to have touched the heart of one of your flock so 
deeply?” she asked softly.

“Yes.” I croaked. “Deeply.”

“I am overwhelmed with the need to give unto you everything that I have 
to give,” she whispered.

Still she held my hand against her, my palm and fingers spread out 
beneath her breast. As she talked, she pressed my hand harder and harder, 
and slowly, without realizing it, she moved my hand up to cup her breast.

“My heart swells to think of the changes you have made,” she told me.

My hands were shaking, quivering against her until I could see the 
jellied afterquakes. The spongy, tender looseness of these appendages were 
a miracle I had never seen before in my life.

“I have never known a woman,” I whispered painfully. “I do not even 
remember ever having seen a woman before a month ago, and your sweet giving
and goodness have overwhelmed me, I fear.”

“You have never seen a woman?” she asked incredulously.

“I was taken to the monastery at the age of six and I only graduated into
the world a month ago,” I told her.

“Then you can teach me how to save my soul, and I shall teach you the 
ways of women—for women will always make up more than half of your flock.”

“Yes,” I admitted, and the terrible heat of sitting so near to her made 
me miserable with unspeakable desires.

Still holding my hand cupped against her, she reached down between her 
breasts and pulled out a handkerchief with which to mop my brow. As she 
worked away, clearing the sweat from my face and scolding me for becoming 
overheated in my climb to the castle, her brisk movements somehow caused 
her to pull my hand away from her breast for a fraction of a second and 
when she again pressed it to cup her lush mound, the dressing gown had 
dropped away and my hand touched bare, indescribably tender flesh.

“Ohhh!” I moaned and she looked down and gasped at what she had done.

Her hand seemed riveted to the spot as she stared and, glancing down at 
the tent formed in the front of my habit, she slowly raised her gaze to my 
misery-filled eyes.

“I have done it to you again,” she said mournfully. “In my eager zeal I 
have been unthinking and unkind. You must let me put you at ease.”

“Oh no, good lady,” I moaned. “I couldn’t possibly ask.”

“Nonsense,” she whispered. “While I am about it, I can teach you about 
the sensitivities and soul of women.”

Quickly, she began unbuttoning my habit and I sat there helpless as she 
bared my body.

“You have a marvelous torso,” she said. “And one of the grandest cocks I 
ever met up with.”

“What?” I asked.

“Cocks, love,” she whispered reaching to slide her hand down my quivering
member. “Surely you have heard the word.”

“No,” I told her truthfully, and she grinned and called me her precious 
lamb.

The act of giving made her face glow and when I told her this she made me
stand and she moved in to hover near me as she pressed my organ between her
legs.

“This is what makes me glow, love,” she laughed. “There is nothing that 
can take the place of a good hard cock between a woman’s legs. Now, go lie 
down on the bed like a dear.”

My nakedness bothered me deeply, and I climbed beneath the covers. As I 
stared up at her, she untied the sash of her gown and slowly shrugged it 
off of her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

I had seen statues and paintings of women in the books of the monastery 
library though none were allowed on the walls or grounds. Nothing I had 
seen could prepare me for the warmth and beauty of a real flesh-and-blood 
woman. Though she was no longer young by any means, probably being more 
than twenty years my senior, her body was the most desirable thing I had 
ever seen in my life. Yet I feared her, for I had not thought of a naked 
woman lying beside me. I had let her give to me of her lips. Could it 
really be any different if she gave of her body? No, I decided. This was 
perhaps even more complete an offering and so, when she pulled the covers 
aside and moved in to lie beside me, I was eager and happy in the joy of 
our communion.

“Ahhh!” I sighed as she snuggled up against me.

I did not wait for her to carry my hand to her breast. Avidly, I explored
the lush tissue and her nipples became hard and her flesh tense.

“Yesss,” she whispered. “Suckle me, as a babe might do, for woman is the 
mother of man.”

The saliva flooded into my mouth and drooled down the sides of her breast
as I opened my lips to suck in the delicious morsel.

“Oh” she moaned. “You learn fast, my love,” and she arched her breasts 
into my face, smothering me in her loveliness.

My organ was weak and aching and as I rolled against her, just the touch 
of her thigh caused it to burst into cascades of beautiful fire. She turned
toward me and pressed her body heavily against me and I sacked her flesh 
with a hunger that was all-consuming in its intensity.

Then she drew away and taking my hand, ran it across her belly and down 
into the fur at her crotch.

“Give, baby,” she whispered hotly, and when I explored her hot flesh, her
moans of delight made me understand.

“I give you pleasure?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

“Baby, I thought you would never get to it,” she laughed. “Oh, God, 
that’s good.”

“What? My touch?” I asked.

“Yesss, but don’t just stroke the fur, lover. There’s a whole little 
world of exciting goodies down inside that slit.”

“But it is raw. I shan’t pain you?” I asked.

Frantically, she reached down and taking my finger, slid it into the 
slimy, hot valley.

“That’s the place,” she groaned. “Oh, sweet Jesus, that’s good.”

Her hand curled about my staff and she began sliding it as my finger 
moved in and out of her torrid meat.

“Nice?” she asked.

“We are giving one unto the other,” I said in wonder, and she laughed.

“Wait,” she moaned, pulling my hand away. “I’m getting too hot.” And she 
pulled my hand back to her breasts.

I groaned when she did not return to stroke my manhood, for it ached 
miserably for her.

“You have to cool, Father,” she whispered.

“Dear God, what did they teach you in that place? No! Don’t tell me. Just
kiss me, my darling.”

Her lips quivered up against me and even our lips sent shivering 
sensations to my agonized staff.

“Ohhh!” I groaned. “I am in a misery of want.”

“Then lie upon me, and I shall show you the way with a woman.”

She coaxed and directed me until I lay on top of her cushiony body and 
then she guided my staff slowly into a tunnel of fire that squeezed and 
kneaded my hardened flesh until I could scarcely breathe.

“And now we are as one,” I moaned.

“And now we fuck,” she answered me.

“Dear God, but it’s good,” I gasped.

“Screw it in deeper,” she groaned, and gripping the cheeks of my bottom, 
she pulled me into her.

“Now, fuck!” she commanded and as she began moving against me, I 
instinctively pulled my member away and rammed it back into the burning 
fire-hole.

“Yesss!” she cried, banging me eagerly.

Faster and faster I worked with compulsive desperation, each lunge 
demanding more and more of my waning strength. But as my strength seemed to
leave me, my powers increased and I worked against her feverishly and I 
ground against her with an almost brutal force. Then came the swelling 
fire, the flames lapping up to surround and engulf me and as I stiffened 
against her the inferno became a conflagration.

“Ahhh!” I cried as my seed burst through its fleshy tube and spurted deep
in her churning caldron.

“Oh, you sweet fucking lamb!” she cried and she jerked convulsively 
against me and I could feel her throbbing release.

A warm, rosy glow surrounded me, bathing my flesh with pleasant, liquid 
sensations.

“I have given, and I have received,” I sighed. “And it is good.”

CHAPTER FIVE

May 21, 1867

I could not leave the Duchess then. There was so much that I wanted to 
know and she was the only one to whom I could turn.

“What we do, must be good in the eyes of the Lord, for it is a giving 
communion of souls, yet I find my heart heavy at times for I have taken the
vow of chastity. Would the Lord guide me onto such a path if it were 
wrong?”

Her sweet understanding smile put me at ease.

“Perhaps the Lord has a special task in mind for you, Don Manuel,” she 
said. “The keeper of lonely and desperate women certainly would receive his
blessing if you brought these women closer to God.”

“And have I eased your burden?” I asked hopefully.

“More than you will ever know,” she whispered. “And you helped me to find
a cause through charity in which I can help to do God’s work.”

“Then I cannot be wrong,” I said. “It must be the will of God.”

God’s will bedded me down with the lonely woman several more times before
I was able to return to my other duties. My body glowed with happiness and 
buoyancy as I hurried down the mountainside to the dreary village at 
noontime.

The man was right, I decided. A woman’s dear body deserves little pet 
names like tit just as my own staff, giving her such joyous relief, 
deserved the pet names she gave to it. I would have to fuck her again soon,
that much was certain, for already I had seen an amazing change in her 
countenance.

Alone in the chapel, however, the little nagging doubts returned to haunt
me.

“Guide me!” I begged of my God. “If this is the path you wish me to 
tread, then remove the obstacles from my path that I may attend to it. A 
thousand times a day, you touch my body, pushing me to do your will, yet 
there is a thing left within me that resists—holding me back. The breasts 
of the mothers as they suckle their young, the dear little creases and 
puffy natal lips of the naked girls—all of these you have made me suddenly 
aware of and I am vibrantly, joyously in love with the world. Yet, my 
teachers never spoke of this way to serve the Lord. Even the subject was 
forbidden, and I was made to give an oath of chastity that now troubles my 
heart. How can I now be sure? Give me a sign!

Let me do thy will with a light heart and a sure head!”

Though I am never able to sleep during the day, a malaise came upon me 
causing me to lie down upon my couch. In moments, I was asleep and during 
my slumber, I dreamed fitful, passionate dreams. When I awoke, I had had an
emission. Was it the sign for which I had asked? I could not be sure. As I 
roused myself from the grogginess, a knock at my door made me jump with a 
start. I realized that the sound was a repetition of the noise that had 
awakened me and I hurriedly opened the door.

A lovely young girl, no more than sixteen at most, stood before me, a 
shawl wrapped tightly about her head and shoulders. Her large, sad eyes 
dominated her entire face, though her clear olive skin and small, full lips
were every bit as perfectly formed. Her eyes lowered as I stared down at 
her, and the thick fringe of her lashes against the silky flesh were 
breathtaking.

“Yes?” I asked. “How may I help you?”

“I have waited at the confessional since noontime,” she said. “Will you 
be giving confessions today?”

“I am sorry,” I said. “I have not been well. I was resting.”

“Oh Father! Forgive me,” she whispered. “I shall come another time.”

“No, child,” I insisted. “If you would care to step into my room, you may
kneel and give your confession right now.”

She nodded and I stood aside to let her pass.

Without even looking about her, she sank to her knees and I hurried 
around to stand before her. She did not come near me as the Duchess was 
wont to do but clasped her hands beneath her chin and began her rosary.

I sat down then where I could see her lovely face and as her hands flew 
across the beads, the shawl fell open. Though her sweet young breasts 
showed only a disappointingly conservative amount of flesh, what I could 
see was singularly enticing. Her small waist nipped in to practically 
nothing and her youth had a vibrance about it that seemed to fill the 
little room.

As her prayers ended, she slipped into her confession without so much as 
a pause for breath.

“I was sharp of tongue with my father,” she began. “He had been too long 
at the saloon and when he began berating my mother, I broke the Lord’s 
commandment.”

“Six Aves,” I directed.

Now she paused, her pretty cheeks flushing. “My mother says that I am 
vain,” she whispered painfully. “I look at my reflection and comb my hair 
much too long.”

“Let me see your hair,” I said before I could stop myself.

She looked up surprised, and then, smiling softly, she lifted the shawl 
and let it drop. Her hair was jet black and it shimmered in the soft glow 
of the lamp. I reached down and ran my hand through the long, waist length 
strands.

“And what do you think, child?” I asked.

She began to wring her hands together fitfully.

“I… I don’t know. I want the boys to notice me, to think I am pretty.”

“You are not pretty, my child,” I told her huskily. “You are enticingly, 
vibrantly beautiful.”

She stared up at me and her chest swelled with happiness, though a 
shyness caused her eyes to lower.

“Do you really think so?” she asked.

“I know so,” I said. “You stir a man’s loins just to look at you. You 
must take care to always stay covered or someday a man will not have the 
strength to keep his hands off that tiny waist or those lush breasts.”

She was beside herself—so flustered she could scarcely speak and yet, as 
little as I had known of women, I knew that I had pleasured this girl 
immensely.

“Does that please you?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered. “To be noticed by a man of God is an 
honor—especially one as handsome as yourself. I mean, I suppose all the 
girls—oh, dear!”

She covered her sweet face with expressive, delicately fluttering hands 
and her overwhelming consternation caused me to put my arms about her in a 
fatherly manner.

“There, there, child,” I said soothingly. “You have said nothing to be 
ashamed of. What caused such flustering, my dear? Is it the stirring of 
feeling you had not expected? Have no fear. Speak of it openly.”

She buried her face in my chest and sighed.

“It is just that the boys of Almansa are so plain and short and—well, you
know. The first day you came striding up the road it was like seeing a 
prince. You’re so much taller and handsomer than the others. Their faces 
are coarse and rugged, while yours—ah, you have fine, sensitive features. 
Your eyes are so blue, they seem to see where other eyes are blinded and 
your lips are so—so… ” She gasped as she realized how far she had gone. 
“They’re so filled with praises for the Lord,” she ended lamely.

“Put my hand to your heart, child,” I whispered.

She took my hand in hers and looked down into my palm for a long moment.

“They are such tender hands,” she whispered, and with a gasp she crushed 
it against her heart.

“Now,” I said gently. “Do you feel the pounding of your heart against my 
hand?”

“Yes, Father,” she whispered.

“God put that heart there, child, and it was made to love. It is no sin 
to use it.”

“But it is a sin to covet what is forbidden,” she whimpered. “To look 
upon a priest, the servant of God, and think how handsome he is. It is 
shameful.”

“I would be indeed a crass creature were I to deny this innocent love 
that you feel for me. It is a beautiful thing, and I take it willingly to 
my heart and thank you for it. To give of yourself to others can never be a
sin, my loving little child.”

“Oh, Father,” she whimpered and, taking her hand from mine, she threw her
arms about my neck and hugged me to her.

My hand, now free to explore the sweet, young fullness of her breast, 
cupped her beauteous jewels hungrily. Her body quivered to my touch, and 
the firmness of her taut, young flesh was so much more lush than the tired 
body of the Duchess. I was ashamed of myself for making such a comparison. 
If it was God’s will that I should bring happiness by accepting the 
adoration of his lonely female children, it was not my place to pick and 
choose or favor one over the other.

“Let me give!” she whimpered deliciously. Locking the door as I pressed 
her to me, I prepared to accept the gift she wished to give.

CHAPTER SIX

“Are you sure you know what it is that you wish to give?” I asked as I 
unbuttoned my habit.

“My body and my heart,” she whispered and, reaching in to scoop her 
breasts from her peasant blouse, she offered them up to me. “You touched my
body. I wish to give it to you, dear Father Manuel. I have never been with 
a man. To give up my virginity to a man of God is next to giving it to God 
himself.”

“Then I accept it in the name of God. We will commune together and if 
your gift is acceptable in the eyes of the Lord, I am sure he will take 
pleasure in it also, for he has commanded me to do this, to accept these 
offerings in his name.”

She literally scampered out of her clothing and, as with peasants, she 
had only the skirt and blouse to rid herself of. Nor did I have more than 
my habit since the fad of underclothing had never appealed to me. Then she 
fled into my arms.

She was a delicious morsel, this lovely girl of nature, and after 
allowing her to squirm and rub against my body for a few delightful 
moments, I held her away from me that I could better look upon her rich 
fullness.

“Let me see this precious gift,” I whispered and I pleasured my eyes and 
hands with her firm, pointing breasts. They bounced so merrily and the 
flesh of her belly was taut and flat. Every part of her pleased me greatly.
Then I reached down to stroke her full, puffy furred lips and she stood 
there writhing and moaning with the delight it gave her.

“I know so little of women,” I said. “I have so much to learn.” And I 
found that to watch my hands stroke across her shivering flesh was 
intensely exciting.

Curiously, I spread her lips and stared in at the weeping, scarlet meat. 
The ridges and valleys glistened before me and a nubbin of flesh throbbed 
visibly. I reached to touch it and the girl shivered convulsively.

“Ohhhh!” she cried.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Nooo,” she whimpered. “It’s wonderful.”

Her thigh seemed to roll out and away and her meat arched up and forward,
and it was irresistible. As I moved closer, the musky, sweet scent of her 
womanhood inflamed me and in a fog of hunger, I leaned forward and tasted 
of her, running my tongue down her slippery incline.

“Ahhh!” she cried, and stabbing her loins forward, she brought them 
crushing up against my mouth.

My cock throbbed with a fire I could not believe, having been touched by 
nothing but the air about it.

“Uuungh!” I grunted as I sucked her flesh into my burning mouth, my lips 
and tongue reveling in heady hotness.

I’m giving! I thought with a swelling elation. Just as the Duchess, so am
I giving, and the girl’s twisting, writhing body told me that she found 
delight in my gift.

But my staff was making demands that this sort of play, delightful as it 
was, could not satisfy, and at last, the ache became so severe that I was 
forced to draw away and pull the girl down onto the bed. Quickly, I moved 
in beside her, pressing my aching cock against her thigh as I leaned over 
to nibble at her breasts.

“Dear God, she is good,” I whispered fervently, but she was shaking so 
feverishly that I was afraid of what I had done.

I pressed my hand against her loins and she arched up against me.

“Ooooh! Ohhh! Ohhh!” she whimpered.

“Your need is too great,” I whispered and I left her and crawled onto the
foot of the bed. As she spread her legs for me, I could see the very hole 
my staff so desperately wished to sink into. Yet, her agony was too great 
to prolong and as her meat opened out before me, my own hunger to suck upon
its weeping membranes made me sink with a groan as my lips crushed into 
her. I stabbed my tongue again arid again into the tight little hole of 
delights and she whimpered and cried out her burning delight. I burrowed 
into her, my head rolling from side to side as the sweet odors of her 
desire drove me to devour her. The feel of her against my slithering tongue
made me shiver with pleasure. I sipped her weeping juices and the walls of 
her sanctuary wept to make more for my lapping tongue to devour. I lathered
her in my saliva, wallowed in her fiery hotness and her ecstasy, her 
whimpering, jerking rapture was balm to my aching loins for I was giving, 
giving, giving!

“Eyiii!” she cried suddenly, and her body stiffened, her meat stabbing up
to engulf me in its throbbing ecstasy.

I slowly withdrew, taking care to give her all that she needed or wanted 
and as she sank back onto the bed, I rose and looked down at her with a 
contentment that greatly surprised me considering the terrible ache of my 
need.

She was still gasping with air but she sat up quickly and reached for my 
cock.

“Let me love you,” she begged.

“No,” I told her. “We shall wait until you have rested, and then we will 
love together.”

“Come lie with me,” she pleaded, raising her hands up to me, and her soft
breasts quivering between her graceful arms were almost more than I could 
resist.

“I can’t,” I moaned. “I am too hot with the touch of you already.”

“Come to me,” she whimpered and my knees turned to jelly.

With a groan, I sank down beside her and she raised over me and began 
nibbling my face and ears and neck as her hands outlined the contours of my
shoulders and chest. Every touch taunted me with her nearness. My poor 
aching cock throbbed dangerously as she stabbed into my ear with her 
tongue.

“How I love to tease you,” she whispered.

“Why?” I groaned.

“Because you are beautiful, and you’re hot and you find me exciting. I 
want to excite you so much that when Sunday comes you will look out upon 
the congregation and see me and you will go mad trying to remember the 
ritual. The smooth lines of your habit will poke out and the sweat will 
pour as you deliver the benediction.”

“You’re a vixen,” I cried.

“And at communion, I shall come forward in a low-cut gown and when I 
kneel you will not be able to look elsewhere. My titties will mesmerize 
you.”

“Why should you shame me thus?” I asked, now truly alarmed.

“Oh, silly,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t shame you for anything. I love you 
too much for that. I only wish I could run through the streets and cry out 
to the people. He loves my body. He loves my heart. He has unveiled his 
sweet soul and his body before me and he is human! He loves!”

“I shall take you over my knee and—and fuck you, if you do such a thing!”

“Then, please! Let us be about it, my man!”

Her hands were running through my hair and she wiggled eagerly against 
me.

“I am told there will be pain,” I warned.

“It is all right,” she told me, “for you have given me happiness 
already.”

I rose up over her and positioned myself as the Duchess had shown me. The
young girl did not guide my organ for me but by now I was intimately aware 
of its exact location. My cock oozed its juices as I nuzzled into her warm 
cove. Then, slowly, I penetrated her seething caldron, its tightness nearly
driving me out of my mind as the waves of fire washed about me.

“Ohhh! God be with me!” I groaned as I pressed against the taut membrane.
Its snugness flurried my joy dangerously and it was only after a deep 
breath that I was able to break through her hymen at all. Then the momentum
of my thrust buried me into her burning depth.

“Uunngh!” she grunted, tensing against me.

I froze against her.

“Does it pain you greatly?” I asked.

“No,” she answered in a tiny, little-girl voice.

“I can pull away,” I offered.

“No! Go on! Go on!” she cried.

Slowly, I withdrew, watching her closely for signs of misery, but she 
only lay there, gripping my neck with her arms.

Again, I sank into her depths with a deep, soul stirring groan and she 
began kissing my face and chin and neck.

“More,” she whispered. “Fuck me, Father!”

“Can you bear it?” I asked.

“I cannot feel the fire of it, but I love your excitement. It excites me 
in a different way.”

“You are giving,” I told her happily, and I worried no more about 
wounding her flesh.

Eagerly, I worked my cock into her tight tunnel and the tide of 
sensations moving in against me took my breath away and caused my heart 
almost to burst from its sack.

“Ahhh!” I sighed with sublime excitement.

“Yes, Father!” she cried.

“Ohhh!” I wailed in a swelling crescendo of ecstasy.

“Is it good, Father?” she cried. “Tell me!”

“Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!” I grunted as I pounded against her with short, 
rhythmless strokes.

“Father!” she screamed.

“Eyiii!” My cry drowned out her frantic pleas as I stiffened lustily 
against her.

“I feel it! I feel it!” she cried. “Your seed pumps into my cradle. Oh, 
my God!”

I had communed with a beautiful child, and we had found a beautiful 
spirit of giving.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Translator’s note: During the following three months, Father Don Manuel’s
entries are filled with the excesses of his growing obsession. His sexual 
interludes with the Duchess of Almansa and with the young girl whose name 
turned out to be Cecelia. (It is interesting to note that the child came to
some six rollicking confessions before Father Manuel even thought to ask 
her name.) At any rate, no useful purpose can be served by recording his 
every orgasm in microscopic manner during this period of his life. Suffice 
it to say that he found time for little else and by the end of this period 
he had so degenerated that he often spent a full day and night in the 
Duchess’ bed without pause even for sleep. Though he never tired of the 
girl’s body, she could not stay long with him on any occasion and it was to
the Duchess he turned for the darker, more lustful experiments. Then, after
a SATYR PRIEST full three months of boring pages of sensual description, 
two events occurred which were to change Father Manuel’s circumstances 
considerably. We will, therefore, resume with the translation at this 
point.

* * *

September 3, 1867

I am beside myself with grief. My most important work must come to an end
before I am really certain that I have helped the Duchess as she deserves 
to be helped. I have worked with her closely and I shall sorely miss our 
spiritual rapport. Her husband has returned, and though this is no matter 
of grave importance, the fact that he has been summoned to the court and 
must take the Duchess with him to Madrid. I shall sorely miss her. She is 
the most giving person I have ever known. She came into the chapel this 
morning, the first time she had ever come to the village. We communed in my
quarters, but I am too beside myself with grief to torture myself by 
reliving it upon these pages. They are to set out at once and today is 
probably the last time I shall ever see the good lady.

She tells me that I have helped her greatly. Her heart is with God.

It is a grave enough matter to be stricken down as I have been, but this 
day is a double sorrow for me. At dusk, as I prayed for guidance, I heard a
cough and knew that someone else had come into the chapel. Before I could 
finish the benediction, I heard tears and I was in a fit to finish and see 
who the sorrowful woman was and what I could do for her. Then I was 
through, and I turned and saw that it was my lovely Cecelia. I rushed to 
her and took her into my arms, glad that she had come to brighten my 
loneliness but she continued to sob with deeper and harder lamentations.

“What is it, my love-child?” I whispered, cupping her breast 
affectionately.

“Oh, Father, I have dreadful news. What am I to do?” she wailed.

“How am I to know until you tell me the news?” I asked, smiling to cheer 
her up.

“Father, I am with child!” she whimpered.

I took a step back as though someone had hit me with the flat of his 
sword. The blood drained from my face and I could scarcely breathe.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes!” she cried. “Oh, Father, I have suspicioned it for nearly a month. 
I have passed my second period this day.”

How could the Lord cause such a thing to happen when he had asked only 
that I comfort and teach of the spirit of the flesh? Was this babe to have 
a part in the grand design? Was it perhaps meant to carry on the new work? 
The flash of thoughts made me more at ease and I shared these thoughts with
her.

“How can I face them,” she whimpered.

“You won’t have to face them,” I promised. “Do not concern yourself, 
Cecelia. The Lord will show us the way. No one will guess for several more 
months, and by then the path will have made itself clear. Don’t fret. You 
are all that I have in this world, and I cannot bear to see even the hint 
of a frown upon your brow.”

“Pray with me, Father,” she pleaded. “Kneel with me at your side at the 
altar. Please?”

“Of course, child,” I said and together we knelt beneath the Holy Virgin.

I put my arms about the shivering child and looked up at the sweet 
innocence of the virgin. To me, the child was very like her.

“Mother, I consecrate these breasts to nurse the child of God,” I said, 
lifting her breasts in supplication. “In this girl’s belly lies the seed of
my loins.”

I ran my hand down her belly to press against her sweet cunt.

“May our union please the Lord. We have communed together in the name of 
the Lord, and he has seen fit to make this child fertile. Now he must show 
us the purpose and the way.”

We went through the rosary and prayed for a moment in silence. When it 
was finished there was no time left for communion, for she had to be in 
before dark. She fell into my arms shivering and as I held her to me, I 
knew that she would be in as great a misery through the night as I.

“Can you not slip from your room later and come to me?” I asked.

“I will come,” she promised. “Oh, Father, I need you so.”

“Then come and we shall celebrate our communion together in the chapel, 
that we might be double blessed.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

September 3, 1867

Cecelia did not come to me that night. I stayed in the chapel until very 
late, praying diligently for direction. I asked guidance for the Duchess, 
beseeching my Lord to watch over her soul and spirit when she reached the 
palace, for she had told me of the many intrigues and excesses of that 
place. Cecelia, too, needed guidance, and I with her, for the Lord had 
fused from the two of us a new life.

“Give me more to do,” I prayed. “If I am to have a special duty, send me 
those in need as a sign.”

The very next morning, just such a person showed up. She was a 
sad-looking creature no more than twenty or twenty-one but she wore her 
scarf so tightly wrapped about her that she looked like a woman in 
mourning.

She asked for confession, and as had become my habit with women in 
distress I offered to hear her in the library.

“The winds are fierce in the box this morning and I should not want you 
becoming ill as you search for salvation,” I told her.

She appeared somewhat distraught with this offer but after a moment’s 
hesitation, she nodded and followed me into the library.

“Would it be permissible to face away from you, Father?” she asked.

“Certainly, dear lady. Any way that is comfortable for you.”

She nodded her head and moving a straight chair to face away from me, she
sat down and started through her beads. Her humility and shyness caught my 
fancy, for she had not so much as once looked me directly in the face. When
she had at last finished her prayers, she paused and carefully crossing her
hands in her lap, she attempted to compose herself before going on.

“It is a difficult thing,” she began and then for some time, she said no 
more.

“I am not here to judge you,” I told her.

“I do not love my neighbor!” she exploded. “I hate her, for she lets my 
husband slip into her bedchamber!”

The problem had been belched up from her soul so vehemently that for a 
moment I was totally at a loss for an answer. The Lord did not fail me.

“And why should he go to this woman?” I asked.

She dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes and sniffed once or 
twice but she did not break down. Her jaw set sternly, she took a deep 
breath and said, “He says that I am frigid.”

“And are you?” I asked.

“I guess so,” she answered. “Yes, I am, but that is no fault of my own.”

“Have you tried?” I asked, laying my hand gently upon her shoulder. 
“Really tried, I mean?”

“As God is my witness, I have tried desperately,” she said, twisting 
about in the chair to face me and the misery and suffering in her eyes was 
intense.

“Tell me, my dear,” I asked. “Has any other man ever—”

“Certainly not!” she gasped, cutting my question off in mid-sentence.

“How did it feel, the first time your husband kissed you?” I asked.

Her face flushed. She did not answer right away, her eyes going misty 
with remembrance. “It was very exciting,” she answered.

“And is it exciting now?” I wanted to know.

“No!” she snapped and the light went out of her eyes.

I leaned back in my chair and studied her for a long time. She was a 
pretty thing, though the lines about her mouth were tightening. Soon, if 
she were riot saved, she would grow into a bitter, prudish woman, unloving 
and unloved.

“I believe,” I said, “that I could help you. You would have to put all of
your trust in me—total and complete, but I think I can show you how to get 
that woman away from your husband.”

Those last words brought her face alive. She leaned forward eagerly.

“Anything, Father. Tell me what to do!”

I got up from my chair and went to the closet, searching through for the 
gown I slipped over my habit when performing baptisms and when I found it I
saw that it was perfect for the use I intended to put it to.

“I shall act as your doctor,” I told her, “for the trouble is within 
yourself. If we can find it and bring it into the open, I can cure you in 
short order and the woman will have no hold upon your husband.”

“Is it possible?” she asked breathlessly and her eyes looked up at me in 
adoration.

“It is a certainty,” I answered with a smile as I saw that trust and love
in her eyes. “Now, you may use my cubicle to change. I want you to take off
all of your clothing and slip into this gown. I will need the opening left 
down the front but you may tie it about the waist with the sash from your 
frock if you like.”

Her face reddened but she did not resist. She hurried into my cubicle and
closed the door. It was nearly twenty minutes before she returned. In my 
excitement, the Wait seemed interminable. When she, at last, opened the 
door, her face was crimson.

“Relax,” I told her gently and laying my hand upon her shoulder, I 
kneaded the taut muscles and I looked down into her eyes. I could feel her 
relax and felt the surge of power the Lord had given me for this task. I 
could look into a woman’s eyes and her warmth and devotion seemed to pour 
out to engulf my soul. There was a worship, a trust, a communion of spirit 
from the start.

“What do they call you?” I asked as I gave her time to forget her near 
nakedness.

“Sarah,” she answered softly.

“A lovely name for a lovely woman,” I told her. “Have you ever been with 
child?”

“No,” she said sadly. “After four years, my husband says also that I must
be barren.”

“We shall see about that also,” I told her, and suddenly the purpose of 
the babe in Cecelia’s womb came to me.

“Now, tell me, how deeply did your husband’s kisses thrill you?” I asked.

She seemed dazed by the question.

“They were very exciting,” she answered lamely. “Did your loins weep when
he kissed your lips?” I asked.

The flush rose in her cheeks again. “I… I don’t remember.”

“You do not remember if you wanted more?” I asked. “Remember, Sarah, I 
cannot help you unless you trust me enough to be completely honest.”

“Yes,” she whispered as though it were something to be ashamed of. “They 
wept.”

“Ahh, and do I detect shame? You should rejoice, for it is the hope of 
your salvation. When did his kisses cease to thrill you?” I asked.

“Ahhh, I—I don’t remember but it was some time after we were married.”

“How does he kiss you?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders nervously. “He just kisses me. I don’t know. 
How does anyone kiss?” There it was. I took advantage of the opening. 
Tilting her chin up ever so gently, I brushed my lips across hers, pausing 
no more than an instant to hover against them. I could feel her chest swell
as she gasped but I did not give her time to jump away.

“Like that?” I asked.

Her eyes stared up at me as a shiver of excitement ran through her body. 
“I… I don’t—” she started but her voice deserted her entirely and she shook
her head instead.

“No?” I asked.

“No,” she choked and she was having trouble breathing.

I leaned down again and kissed her, allowing my lips to quiver against 
her for long, sensuous moments.

“Like that?” I whispered and again she could only shake her head.

Now, I put my arms about her and gathered her into me. My kiss was filled
with promise, my mouth hard against hers and open as I pressed and twisted 
hungrily against her.

“Nnnmmm,” she whimpered just as I drew away and I held her in my arms and
lowered my lips to her ear.

“Like that?” I asked hotly and she shook her head in the cove of my neck.

I moved back away from her and again assumed an omnipotent attitude.

“Where did you feel that, Sarah?” I asked.

“I… I—my lips tingled,” she answered.

“Is that all that tingled?” I asked.

“No,” she whimpered and hung her head in shame.

“Sarah, your shame is groundless. I think, all ready, we have found one 
of your problems. Now tell me, what does your husband call your breasts?”

“I… I don’t know,” she moaned. “Tits, I guess.”

“Do you feel anything in them when he touches you?”

“They hurt,” she answered miserably.

“How?” I demanded.

“He grabs them and squeezes and squeezes,” she whimpered.

My hand slid in the opening of the gown and grazing down her melon-sized 
tits, I gently cupped my hand beneath them, lifting them gently. She 
squirmed frightfully.

“Like this?” I asked, watching her every expression though she would not 
look up at me.

“No,” she answered and grabbing her other breast through the cloth, she 
squeezed over and over. “Like this!” she cried.

It was an ugly, coarse movement and I knew no woman would enjoy it.

“I suppose he sucks them just as blatantly,” I said with obvious disgust.

She shuddered convulsively and then her hand flew to her face, her 
shoulders hunched forward and she began to cry. My hand never left her 
breast. I gathered her to me with my free arm and pressed my lips to her 
hair. Slowly, ever so gently, I molded and cuddled her full, spongy flesh.

“You have beautiful breasts, Sarah,” I whispered. “We have now discovered
a second problem. First, you are too shy and do not allow your body to 
respond the way in which it wishes to respond.

Second, your husband does not know how to love a woman. Remember the Lord
and make giving your most important single virtue. Give of yourself, Sarah.
Give with eagerness, with warmth—yes, with your flesh.”

“Yes, Father, yes,” she whimpered, but she did not throw herself against 
my body as the Duchess and Cecelia had done.

“Does my hand against your breast feel good?” I asked.

“Y… yes, Father,” she whispered.

“Where, Sarah?” I asked. “Where do you feel it?”

She sobbed and could not reply.

“Again you are ashamed where you should not be ashamed. Tell me, if your 
husband petted and caressed you as I am doing, would you want to give 
yourself to him?”

“Oh, yes!” she gasped. “Oh yes, Father. Desperately!”

“Do you think this feeling would go away should he go further?” I asked 
and my hand left her spongy flesh and slowly slid down the length of her 
belly to brush against her forest and then, as I grazed the burning, moist 
cunt-lips she shivered violently and gasped for air. I could feel her heart
pumping against my chest and as I pressed lightly against her loins, her 
pulse pounded against my fingers.

“No! No! Father,” she gasped. “It is wrong! It is terribly wrong!”

“Then this is where you turn cold in your husband’s arms,” I said, 
pulling quickly away from her.

She stood there, trembling violently, so painfully vulnerable that my 
heart went out to her but I did not allow myself to comfort her as deeply 
as my body felt the need of it.

“No,” she cried faintly. “No. I am not cold.”

“But you freeze in his arms as you just have in mine,” I accused.

“No,” she sobbed. “It is only that you are a priest and not my husband. 
It is wrong!”

“Did I not tell you I was acting as your doctor and did you not promise 
me your trust?” I demanded.

“Yes,” she panted.

“Then how can I tell who is at fault? How can I know why your husband 
leaves your bed to flee to the arms of another woman? You have everything a
man could want. There is no other answer for it. You must freeze in his 
arms without realizing it.”

“No!” she cried. “I shall prove it. I shall not freeze. I’m sorry, 
Father. I had too little faith!”

But she did not rush into my arms, and the very fact of her shyness 
inflamed me. She stood there waiting, looking up at me hopefully, but she 
could not bring herself to initiate it. I let her suffer as long as I could
stand it, and then I gently gathered her into me and kissed her with long, 
lingering kisses that caused her body to shiver and then succumb to me. 
With a shuddering little moan, she pressed against me.

“Sarah,” I whispered at length.

“Yes, Father?” she asked so trustingly that I was almost ashamed of the 
ease with which I had made her mine.

Only the knowledge that my power over women came from the Lord himself, 
allowed me to overcome the urge to beg her forgiveness and release her. 
Instead, I raised her chin and looked down into her face.

“I had hoped that we had found the problem, but now I fear we must 
explore this further. Do I have your absolute trust, Sarah?”

She gazed up into my face with wide-eyed trust but there was a hint of 
pain there too.

“Yes,” she answered with reserve.

“Ofttimes, it is when she must open her gates to her man that a woman 
loses the feelings God has given her. Unbutton my habit, Sarah,” I told her
firmly.

For a long moment, I was not sure, and then, with shaking fingers, she 
began unfastening my garment. I stood back and let her work at it all the 
way down to the floor. Then, before she could rise, I spread back my habit 
and let it fall to the floor. She gasped as she started to rise and nearly 
bumped into my wild erection.

“Ohhh!” she gasped and quickly got to her feet.

“Is it the sight of a man that cools your blood?” I asked.

“N… no,” she answered. “It is just that I have never seen one—in that 
condition.”

“You surely have seen your husband,” I scolded.

“No,” she told me truthfully. “He comes to me after the lamps are out.”

It seemed incredible. “My God, what he has missed,” I groaned. “To never 
have seen a body such as yours.”

She hung her head and I was sure she was sneaking a long look at my 
staff.

“He has seen me,” she admitted. “It is after, when he is coming to bed 
that he douses the lamp.”

Shaking my head, I asked her to go into my cubicle and lie down. I did 
not touch her, feeling that the more clinical I could maintain this 
relation, the more willing the subject would be. I was right in my 
judgment, for she strode obediently in to my bed and I came quickly behind 
her. When she had laid herself down, I lowered myself down beside her and 
took her into my arms.

“I am ready,” she said and spread her legs to receive me.

“No, you aren’t,” I corrected. “You need much more petting and caressing 
and loving before you are ready to feel what is to be given.”

A delicious shiver of anticipation swept through her at the promise and 
when I had again showed her my delight at touching and cuddling her breasts
with my hands, I lowered my lips to her flesh and hovered and 
whisper-kissed my way over them.

“Mmm,” she purred and the intensity of the fire flooding through her 
brought writhing, twisting movements as she suffered the sensuous heat I 
forced upon her.

“Does your husband not caress you, incite you, inflame you?” I gently 
demanded.

“No!” she wailed. “He just fucks me!”

“And you don’t like to be fucked?” I asked as my hands slid down to her 
hotly throbbing loins.

“Not by him!” she whimpered.

“Do you want to be fucked now?” I persisted.

“Yes! Oh, God, yes!” she cried.

“Not yet,” I teased.

“Oh, please,” she whimpered.

I had been trailing my fingers back and forth down her puffy lips but as 
she begged for my cock, I slowly fingered into her slippery, burning 
membranes.

“Aaah!” she gasped, bracing herself against the flood of sensation.

“Spread your meat for me,” I ordered. “Show me you can assume the 
attitude of lust. Show me you’re not shy, Sarah!”

“Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!” she grunted as she splayed open her slit and rubbed 
heavily up against my erotically taunting fingers.

“I’m going to finger-fuck you, Sarah,” I whispered huskily and sliding my
middle finger into her cunt as I pressed the other fingers into meat, I 
worked her cunt-hole and she met my thrusts eagerly.

“Tell me, Sarah,” I goaded her. “Do you want my tongue and lips burrowing
into your meat or my throbbing cock ramming into your belly?”

“Ohhh! Ohh! I want all of it!” she cried.

“You can’t have it all, Sarah. Tell me! Tell me!”

“Oh Father, fuck me! Fuck me now!”

Quickly I raised up over her, in a fever to take what I had conquered and
in her eagerness, she grabbed my prick with both hands and pushed it into 
her wet cove. With one quick lunge, I impaled her with a sickening groan.

“Ohhh!” she cried with a fulfillment that, for that instant, satisfied 
the terrible agonies that had gripped her.

Deliciously, she ground her ass round, savoring the feel of my hardened 
flesh filling her every crevice and fold. Her slit rubbed its juices into 
my forest until my hair was slick with her juices.

“Fuck me,” she begged. “Fuck me now!”

I slid my joy into her hole of happiness then, and I gave her a pounding 
as violent as any she could have ever known from her coarse, rough husband.
Properly prepared, and fired to my touch, she met me with an eagerness and 
abandonment that was a conflagration of response. I could feel her 
stiffening, grinding wildly up against me as she reached the portals of her
release. I doubled my efforts then to satisfy the both of us.

“Eyiii!” she screamed, her head thrown back as she twisted in a frenzy of
possessed fire.

“Fly, my lady!” I cried. “Fly through the sea of my come! Feel it? Feel 
it? It comes! Oh my God, how it comes!”

My seed filled her as I spurted my honey in hard, long volleys.

“Ohhh!” I moaned, sinking down against her.

Always, I had rolled away from my women as I received release. It was as 
though, at that moment I wanted to be alone, to commune only with my God. 
For some reason, this night I wanted—needed—to cuddle the woman to me. The 
elation of having captured such an elusive butterfly was infinitely 
delightful to me, and as her shyness returned and she began to squirm away 
from me, I felt an ache of loneliness as I let her go. Rolling over onto my
back I quickly rose and slipped into my habit. If I was ever to have her 
again, I must not offend her now.

“By no stretch of the imagination, could you be called a frigid woman,” I
told her. “Does your husband come to you regularly?” I asked.

She nodded. “On Mondays and Thursdays,” she admitted.

“Today is Wednesday,” I said. “Part of your problem lies in the fact that
your husband now thinks his caresses are useless. Tomorrow night, before 
you retire, find a secluded spot and work your own flesh, Sarah. Get 
yourself hot. Think about this night. I would like to think of your 
remembering it. Then go to him, and when he finds you are vibrantly, wholly
alive, as I know you to be, he will give you better service. If he is 
clumsy, pretend that you are with me. There is no sin in willing your fire 
to please your husband, Sarah.”

Her face was scarlet with embarrassment, yet it shown with hope and 
glowed with fulfillment. She dressed so quickly, I could scarcely believe 
it and when she was again dressed for the street, only the lack of the 
tight lines about her lips and the glow in her eyes showed that she had had
any sort of excitation out of the ordinary.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered, laying her little hand in mine. “With
all my heart, I thank you for the help you have given me.”

“Come to me any time,” I told her. “I am here to help you.”

She nodded, lowered her head and quietly left the room.

She never came to me again. There was an ache in a corner of my heart for
the loss of the shy, sweet creature. I saw her often but always in the 
company of her husband or standing in front of her cottage visiting with 
the neighbor woman. Whenever she looked at me, there was a special glow 
about her, an aliveness that had been missing when first I saw her.

I helped her, I think, or rather the Lord helped her through me.

CHAPTER NINE

September 20, 1867

Cecilia returned to the chapel as soon as she could, but it was more than
a fortnight before her parents allowed her out of the house. They had 
caught her trying to sneak out of the window and accused her of running off
to meet some boy in the brush at the edge of town. It was a ridiculous 
charge. She was not that kind of a girl, but it was not my place to correct
them in this, and I was glad that they kept a close watch over their lovely
daughter.

I still had no solution for her problem. However, I put my trust in the 
Lord, and as was usually the case, he did not fail me. She had just entered
the study and rushed into my arms when I heard footsteps in the chapel and 
quickly pushed her away.

“Stay here,” I whispered. “Do not run off, my little nymph. I must see 
who is interrupting our pleasure.”

Stepping out of the door which, after a short hallway, led directly into 
the chapel, I closed the door carefully behind me.

“Anybody here?” I heard a voice call and as I entered the chapel I was 
met by a nondescript young man not much older than Cecelia.

“Yes?” I inquired.

“Are you Father Don Manuel?” he asked.

I nodded that I was.

“I have a message to you from her majesty the queen,” he said with an air
of importance.

My curiosity was agape and he smiled at the effect he had created. I took
the letter and started to open it, but my hands were shaking and I did not 
want him to witness this weakness.

“Where have you come from?” I asked. “Surely, not all the way from 
Madrid?”

“Yes, sir!” he boasted. “I rode the distance in three days and would have
made it far sooner except that this is a hard place to find.”

“Do sit down,” I told him. “I shall call for Senora Moraldo next door and
see if she can’t make you up a meal.”

“Thank you, sir,” he answered. “I should like that very much.”

Hurrying out the front door, I crossed the church courtyard and knocked 
upon the door of the first house. Senora Moraldo was a plump, motherly 
woman and she greeted me with a beaming smile.

“A messenger has come to me from the queen,” I informed her. “I wonder if
you could see to a bed and a meal for him?”

“Certainly, Father,” she said with delight. “Send him straightaway. I 
have hot bread in the oven now.”

“Thank you, Senora. You are a good woman and a wonderful neighbor.”

She fell into a fit of belittling herself in her embarrassment, but I cut
her off and assured her of my appreciation. Then I hurried back and sent 
the boy on to her. The envelope still unopened in my hand, I slipped back 
into my office to Cecelia.

“I have a letter from the queen,” I told her, holding the envelope up to 
show the wax seal of the crown.

“Oh! What does it say?” she asked. Her eyes saucered prettily and she was
all aglow with excitement.

“I don’t know,” I said, ripping into the envelope. “I haven’t read it, 
yet.”

There were two letters in the envelope. One was from the bishop. The 
other, in the flourishing hand of a scribe, was from Her Majesty, Queen 
Infanta Isabella.

Her majesty’s note read:

* * *

September 16, 1867

Father Don Manuel…

Felicitations! Her Royal Majesty, Queen Infanta Isabella, requests that 
you come at once to Madrid, your services being required by the crown.

She will expect you within a fortnight.

Signed

Scribe to Her Royal Majesty.

* * *

The letter from my bishop was more explicit. It read:

* * *

September 16, 1867

Father Don Manuel,

I have received and considered the request from Her Royal Majesty, Queen 
Infanta Isabella, that you be transferred to the palace. I, of course, have
acceded to her request.

You are to guide the religious training of the children and to perform 
all religious services in the palace chapel. You should understand, 
however, that I cannot allow you to preside over any state religious 
services since this duty must be performed by me, as Bishop of Madrid.

I do not understand how it was that she heard of you in such a remote 
village. I assume you have performed some outstanding duty of which I have 
not been informed. We will speak of this at length when you reach Madrid. 
It is most unusual that a priest of your tender experience should be given 
a post of such responsibility. I hope you will accept the advice of one 
older and wiser than yourself and take great care in all respects.

Your servant,

Bishop Bonilli Rialta

* * *

The bishop’s letter concerned me gravely, for he was obviously 
antagonistic to my appointment. I didn’t wonder for a moment who had 
brought about this appointment. The Duchess was the only person who would 
have even heard of me. I did wonder what should be done about my superior, 
however. I communed with my lovely little love toy but I cannot for the 
life of me recall the details and so cannot, this night, put them down. My 
mind was too preoccupied with Bishop Rialta. When she left me, I hurried to
my desk, poured ink into the well and cut a fresh quill. I spoiled page 
after page but finally composed the following note to my superior:

* * *

September 20, 1867

My Father, In trembling, I beg to be excused from this duty which has 
summoned me to a position that I could not possibly hope to be worthy of. 
Please do whatever you can to intercede with the queen in my behalf.

The Duke and Duchess of Almansa were recently called to the court and I 
must assume that they are responsible for this. It was my happy privilege 
to help the Duchess understand the grace and happiness of charitable works.
The people of Almansa are very poor and since her awakening, their lives 
have been greatly eased by her good works. The Lord reached her. I was only
an instrument, but she has the mistaken notion that it is I that am worthy.

I shall follow your directive unless I hear from you to the contrary but 
I shall pray diligently for your success in this.

Your humble servant,

Father Don Manuel

* * *

I knew perfectly well that he would not dare to cross the queen. Though, 
in theory, he owed his allegiance to no one but the Pope, in actual 
practice, nothing was worth incurring the wrath of the royal household. I 
had been so very naive when I passed through Madrid that, though I spent no
more than three days with the bishop, I felt sure he would consider the 
letter sincere and be dutifully impressed by my modesty as well as my good 
works.

Then, quite suddenly, I realized that this appointment meant far more 
than just a continued relationship with the Duchess. This would solve the 
dilemma with Cecelia. Taking a fresh sheet of paper, I forged a letter 
without so much as a qualm of bad conscience. The good Lord helps those who
recognize his help and put it to best advantage.

The second letter read:

* * *

September 16, 1867

Father Don Manuel,

In my rush to leave Almansa, I did not take the time to consider the 
extra help I should need at the court. I am in desperation for a personal 
maid and rather than hire some city girl, I would prefer that you choose 
one for me.

I should be happy if you could send me the most pious and chaste 
unmarried female in the village. I shall see that her good reputation 
remains unscathed.

Farewell in the name of the Lord,

The Duchess of Almansa

* * *

Armed with this little fabrication and the letters from the queen and the
bishop, I set out to visit Cecelia’s family. I found them so thoroughly 
impressed with the documents that I had little trouble convincing them to 
allow their daughter to travel with me as her chaperone to the city of 
Madrid. We should leave within a fortnight. When it was done, I scurried 
back to the chapel, scooped up my letter to the bishop and found the 
courier just preparing for bed.

“Would you be so kind as to carry this letter back to the bishop for me?”
I asked.

“Certainly, Father,” he said, far more friendly now that he had a full 
stomach.

“I do not know whether or not I am expected to answer the note from her 
royal majesty,” I said. “It somehow seems presumptuous to address a letter 
directly to her.”

“I should be happy to deliver a verbal message to the scribe,” he told 
me.

“Is this how it is usually done?” I asked, allowing him the luxury of 
superior knowledge on the subject.

His chest swelled and I knew that I had made a friend for life.

Such a swell-headed bumpkin! I thought.

“You just leave it up to me, Father,” he said and he was almost 
strutting. “Just tell me what your reply is and I shall convey it to him.”

“Then tell them that I am overwhelmed by their offer and I shall arrive 
shortly, praying in the interim that I shall be worthy of their trust.”

“Well said!” the boy complimented me. “He will like that!”

“Fine,” I said. “Have a good journey. My thanks.”

I would be distraught with boredom until time to “Good night, Father.”

leave, so excited was I to get on with it. I spent the two weeks saying 
goodbye to my flock and doing all that I could to give them a pleasant 
memory of the Lord’s servant.

CHAPTER TEN

October 1, 1867

I was most agreeably surprised when, the night before I was to depart, a 
fiesta was held in my honor’—and, of course, in honor of Cecelia as well. 
Every brassy young buck in town was around her and, to my sorrow, she was 
flirting outrageously. While all of the old men and women surrounded me, 
the young ones, the ones closer to me both in age and in spirit, were 
flitting in and out of the shadows in a flagrant manner.

It was as though I had not taught her a single grace. Of course, I never 
had the time with her that I had with the Duchess. Once we were away from 
the village, I would double my efforts to tame the shameless little hussy. 
I was edging over to the shadows to get a better look at the goings on when
a young girl rushed from the edge of the building and literally bumped into
me. I grabbed her, to keep her from falling and when I looked down at her 
sweet little face, I saw that there were tears.

“Oh Father!” she gasped.

“Aren’t you Rebecca?” I asked. “You are Cecilia’s sister, are you not?”

“Yes, and I wish you’d get that hussy out of here. She just has to steal 
every beau I get!”

“Here, here,” I laughed though I was gravely annoyed at the news. “And 
when did this start?”

“Start?” she snapped. “She’s always been that way. They used to call her 
a prick teas—ahhh!” she gasped as she realized what she had said.

“And what do they call her now?” I asked grimly.

“Oh, she gives it all away now to any boy who’ll notice her. Oh, how she 
vexes me, Father!”

“Is it because she is bad or because she steals the boys from you?” I 
asked.

“Both!” she answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Sure! I’ve never 
been a tease. I like to make a boy shiver and shake and I don’t leave him 
in misery. But her! She’s disgusting! She just is a pig!”

“You admit that you—you fuck!” I asked.

The girl looked up at me surprised and then a new appraisal brought a 
smile to her lips.

“No wonder Cecelia has become so devout, of late!” she said, raising an 
eyebrow as she studied me. “So she sucked you in, too, has she?”

The girl shuddered. “She’ll stop at nothing! Even has to seduce a 
priest!”

“Cecelia has not seduced me,” I assured her.

“You are a brassy little thing. It would do you good to go to confessions
more regularly.”

“If I got the same treatment, I’d confess every day,” she said with a 
broad grin.

“I shall be gone early in the morning,” I told her. “If you feel the need
to unburden your soul, you will have to do it quickly.”

“There’s no time like the present,” she said and throwing her shawl over 
her hair, she started off toward the chapel, her small hips swaying wildly.

What that young lady needs, I decided, is a good, hard spanking!

I followed her and when she had mounted the steps of the chapel, she 
walked through the door and started down the aisle.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “The confessional is back here.”

“You’re kidding!” she laughed. “You don’t really want a confessional do 
you?”

“Certainly,” I told her. “If you have forgotten your beads, you may use 
mine.”

Her face reddened as she stared at me, daring me to resist her, and when 
I did not respond, she took the beads and walked on into the stall. I 
walked around to the other side and took my place.

“Let’s see,” she said. “I’ve been pretty bad. This is apt to take some 
time.”

“Start with your beads,” I ordered.

“Oh! Well, yes,” she stumbled and then she got to her knees and began.

When she had finished, she returned to the recitation of her sins and it 
sounded to me like they were told more to incite my blood than to save her 
soul.

“I let Rialdo put his hand down the front of my blouse and squeeze my 
tits. He said I have the biggest in the village. Then there was Gino. We 
fucked, but I can’t remember how many times. Let’s see. We did it standing 
up in the niche next to the Ciccanti house, and once by the side of the 
road, he laid down and I covered him with my coat and sat on it. It was fun
nodding to the people as they rode by and them not knowing I was busy 
fucking. Oh, and then in the hayloft at the stables but that wasn’t 
screwing really since we ate it. Ooo Eee, is that a sensation!”

I let her go on and on, though my cock was throbbing miserably. She 
seemed to take great pleasure in danger, allowing herself to be fucked any 
place where there were people nearby that could catch her the moment she 
lost control of the situation.

“The funniest time was in Mama and Papa’s bed with Tomas. Papa came into 
the house right in the middle of it and we hid behind the clothes in the 
closet. He came in and laid down, thinking he was alone. Here we were 
fucking away and I peeked out and my old man had pulled his cock out and 
was sliding his own joy. I got so hot, I creamed Tomas three times before 
he could get there. ‘Course he’s chicken and when he gets scared, his prick
don’t do too good. Gino’s the best for being around other people. Once we 
fucked on a blanket in the middle of a church picnic and not one person 
knew what we were up to.”

“How old are you, Rebecca?” I asked.

“Fifteen,” she answered promptly. “But at least I only take on one at a 
time.”

“Go on,” I said, feigning a tired, bored resignation which I certainly 
didn’t feel.

“Well, I can’t really remember much more,” she said, obviously 
disappointed. “What is to be my penance?”

I rose from my chair and left the cubicle.

“Follow me,” I said and she immediately broke into a wide grin.

I let her think whatever she wanted as I led her back into my study. Then
I drew up a straight backed chair and sat down.

“Come here,” I said sternly and she flirted over to me, simpering 
outrageously.

I grabbed her arm and flipped her over onto my lap, her belly thudding 
down upon my knees. Before she could catch her breath, I flipped up her 
skirts and petticoats and pulled down her drawers to reveal a pair of 
nicely rounded cheeks. Then, I spanked her with the flat of my hand.

I did not stop until her cheeks were scarlet. Her cries were pitiful, but
I paid her no heed. When I finished, I massaged her ass vigorously, running
my hand down the delicious crease to finger her tight little asshole. She 
had gripped my leg frantically until the whipping had stopped but now, as I
kneaded her butt, hands crept around my leg, searching for my joy toy.

“You are a little shrew,” I scolded. “You deliberately sat in the 
confessional telling God words only calculated to incite the mind and 
inflame the loins, and the mind and the loins you were after were mine!”

“I’m sorry, Father,” she panted and then her searching hand found my 
hardness and curled around it. Eagerly, she squeezed and it was all I could
do to keep from groaning.

I raised my hand and slammed it home against that pretty little ass again
and again but though she cried and whined, her hand gripped frantically to 
my maleness. When I paused, I was gasping for air, both from the effort of 
chastising her and the fires that raged in my loins. Even while I was 
beating her, she began spreading her legs farther and farther apart until 
some of my strokes had landed deep enough to flail against her puffy lips. 
When this happened her screams were more filled with excitement than with 
any pain and the touch of her was something new and breathtaking to me for 
she had not a hair yet on her cunt-lips.

“How old did you say you were?” I asked, cruelly reaching to run my hand 
down those silky smooth ridges.

“Thirteen, you wonderful bastard!” she whimpered.

“Thirteen!” I cried and reaching over her shoulder, I rammed my hand down
the front of her blouse and felt the swelling teacups of blossoming youth.

“Christ, help me with this wench!” I growled and her arm reached down and
skittered beneath my habit. In moments, she had worked her way back up to 
my cock and was sliding my hot joy. The insolent lass even paused to weigh 
my balls, cupping my sac into her hand in a most expert manner.

I whipped her again and again, pausing to massage all that I had injured 
and when the swats on her backside brought no improvement, I switched to 
swatting the bottom.

.“You’re hurting me!” she cried. “Please don’t spank me again.”

“You know why I am whipping you,” I told her. “When you stop your erotic 
play, I shall not have to punish you.”

“But then what will you do?” she asked.

“I don’t see that it matters. Will you quit it or not?” I replied hotly.

“I’ll quit if you’ll fuck me, but I’d rather be punished than stop 
altogether.”

At that moment, I heard footsteps in the chapel and though I should have 
jumped with a start, I suppose, I was so angry with the child that I began 
swatting her again. Then I looked up and saw her mother standing in the 
doorway.

“What are you doing, Father?” she asked.

“I’m spanking your daughter,” I growled. “She has badly misbehaved.”

Rebecca flurried my cock with such a shower of frenzied pumping that I 
could scarcely breathe, yet her mother saw none of it and simply nodded her
approval.

“Father, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you have taken an 
interest. The child will surely be the death of me if my drunken husband 
doesn’t kill me first.”

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” whispered the girl.

“I shall return her to you when I think she is ready to behave,” I told 
the woman and she rushed up to me, took my hand in hers and leaned over to 
kiss it.

“Thank you, Father,” she cried. “You are a god of a man.”

“You’re welcome, Mother,” I said and my free hand slipped up between the 
girl’s legs and slid straight and true into her cunt.

“Good night, Father,” she said. “I am sorry this had to happen on your 
last night with us.”

As my thumb screwed into her throbbing bud, my middle finger fucked her 
cunt.

“It is good that it happened this last night,” I said, “for tomorrow, I 
shall be gone.”

The woman turned and departed and before I could stop the girl, she had 
twisted around and was throwing her arms about my neck.

“You beat them all!” she cried. “Fucking me right in front of my mother! 
Right in front of her very eyes! Oh Father, I love you.”

“You don’t love anything but lust!” I scolded. “I am going to have to 
teach you the real meaning of God’s love, for you will surely go to hell at
this rate.”

“Teach me,” she whispered, pulling my hands to her loins. “Eat my snatch.
See how smooth it is?”

“Rebecca!” I cried. “You are a vile little monster!”

I jumped from the chair, wrapping my arm about her waist so that she 
could not fall, and I carried her about with me as I searched my cubicle. 
At length, I found some rope and though she giggled, thinking it a game, 
she allowed me to tie her down to the bed with her legs and arms spread 
wide.

“Fuck me,” she tittered, and the words so angered me that I took a 
kerchief and gagged her.

“Now!” I said sternly. “You are going to learn finesse. You are going to 
learn to be a lady if it takes me the whole of the night!”

I brushed my hands up across her loins and she shivered with excitement. 
Then the sight of those naked lips so inflamed me that I circled around to 
the foot of the bed and dropped down to bury my face in her flaming, wet 
flesh. Her sweet, musky juices flowed so copiously that they oozed from her
slit to run across her lips and those lips were so deliciously tender that 
I sucked them in, chewing gently at her hot sweetmeat. First one, then the 
other, the tender youth more erotic than anything I had ever known.

At last, I drew away and spread her flesh to gaze upon the hot, scarlet 
innermeat and the tight little cunt that revealed itself to me was 
sensuously beautiful. The little bud perked and throbbed before my eyes and
the beads of moisture weeping from her flesh were like pearl drops of dew. 
I explored every bit of those sensitive membranes with a quivering tongue 
and the child cried out her joy and writhed in a torment of sensations.

I peaked her then, clamping down to suck upon her flesh until she 
stiffened and screamed her ecstasy, the sounds muffling up out of her gag. 
And while she lay panting and spent, I slowly slipped from my habit and 
stood above her, watching her eyes stare weakly at my stiffened prick. She 
was exhausted but already hungering for more.

“You have had it the way you asked for it,” I told her. “Yours is the way
of lust. Now I shall teach you the ways of love, the way God made for two 
people to commune together.”

Slowly, I untied the gag.

“Will you do what I tell you and behave as I direct if I untie you?” I 
asked.

“Yes, Father,” she answered with an impish grin. “Can I suck that big 
stick?”

“No!” I said angrily and though I had approved it fully when done in 
penitency by the Duchess, I did not approve it with her. The feel of a 
woman’s mouth, curled lovingly about my staff, the siphoning, sucking lips 
that draw off the very life blood, is an incomparable ecstasy, but I was 
not here for ecstasy. I was here as a teacher and to have weakened and 
allowed the girl to suck forth my seed would have been a grave, inexcusable
sin.

“I want no more such talk,” I scolded. “I am going to teach you. It is no
wonder that the boys rush to your sister, for she is ever shy and discreet.
It is your own bawdy mouth that loses them to her.”

I continued on in such a vein as I untied her bonds and then I lay down 
and gently gathered her into my arms. Though her mouth was vile and 
loathsome, her eager little body was about as charming and virginal as any 
I had ever seen. Petting her little breasts I heaped a continual barrage of
compliments and endearments. It served to keep her own mouth shut as well 
as to make her feel loved and feminine. But I could not toy with her for 
long, lingering hours as I had with the others for her lips fired me 
greatly and her youthful, naked cunt seemed always to beckon me 
irresistibly on.

“Ohhh, you’re so good,” she moaned. “Oh Father, don’t leave tomorrow. 
Else take me with you. Please! I will never have the patience for boys 
again.”

“Then be a teacher for the little boys,” I counseled her, “that they may 
grow up to have tender, gentle feelings.”

“Ooo, yesss,” she giggled. “How delicious.”

“No, Rebecca. You must remember always to do it for them. That is the 
difference between lust and love. It’s giving!”

What a pity my best sermons always were delivered in bed. How the men and
women of my congregation could have benefited by the thoughts God gave me 
to speak to these misguided charges of mine. It was an awesome 
responsibility.

“Father,” she whimpered. “I can’t stand much more. You have me nearly 
there again.”

My hand had simply been grazing across her body, dipping here, pressing 
there as I sucked her sweet cupcake breasts. I had not realized the wild 
responses of the very young. Taking my hand away, I let her cool for a few,
brief moments before impaling her. And why would God make children of such 
tender years so abundantly sexual? Was he pointing the way for me again? I 
had been chosen by the queen to teach children. Or was it the queen? No, I 
decided. It was God, just as it had been God who had sent me this lusty 
little wench on the eve of my departure to reveal my purpose. At that 
moment, I felt more sure of my way than I had ever felt in my entire life. 
As I rose up over this child and slid my love-lesson into her cunt-hole, I 
rejoiced in the wondrous goal my creator had set for me.

I knew, too, that the fruit of my seed was going to have to be sacrificed
for his glory. Cecelia had, this night, been revealed to me for the less 
than perfect woman she was. I did not hate her for it. She was weak. I 
would work diligently to cure her of this weakness but she was not fit to 
bear a child of a man of God. The Lord, in all his wisdom, had shown me 
what she was and what needed to be done. I would have to find an 
abortionist in Madrid before we went on to the palace.

Complete now and sure of mind, I slowly fucked the child, her hairless 
cunt so sensuously erotic that I held myself up off of her body high enough
that I could look down and see my glory sliding in and out of those naked 
lips.

“Ohhh! Ohhh!” she cried on and on, gasping with every powerful stroke.

“Yess,” I hissed, staring into her eyes as I watched what my body was 
doing to her.

Her face was so much more apparent than that of a woman. Every burst of 
fire brought an expression of heightened excitement, her face responding as
uninhibitedly as the rest of her body. Her eyes became glazed as they 
fogged over with the swell of her fire and I stoked my feverish prick into 
the tight opening in a rapid staccato of thrusts so that I would reach the 
peak with this amazing child.

“Ohh,” she whimpered, lifting her ass high off the mattress to slam up 
against me.

“Little child,” I moaned. “Sweet little child.”

“Sweet fucking Father,” she whispered in return.

I. ground down against her with bruising force and that resilient little 
body pushed up begging for more. I crushed my mouth into her lips, fucking 
my tongue into her throat and she bit and nibbled and fucked me in return.

“Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!” I grunted as the fire became almost more than I could
bear.

She was shuddering violently and as I stabbed in and out of her tunnel, 
she whimpered and then pulled her legs tightly about my thighs.

“Father,” she pleaded. “In the ass. Please, in the ass!”

I was shocked and yet, in the heat of my ardor, there was no time to 
consider the right or the wrong of it. She had moved her cunt forward, 
rubbing the entire length of her open meat against my body and as my cock 
pushed into her, her asshole began to open and close and with a terrified 
groan, I felt her sucking me in.

Deeper and deeper I sank into her bowel as the tightly-muscled stricture 
kneaded and milked me with suctioning draws so intense that I was rendered 
nearly too weak to go on.

“Ohhh!” she cried, rubbing her meat into my belly until I was slippery 
with her slime.

It was too much. With a blinding burst of fire, I exploded. This child 
had raised me to heights I had never known.

“Ahhh,” I sighed and the world spun as I sank onto the bed.

“Wasn’t that a wham-dandy!” she giggled.

“Why did you force me into—”

“Ha!” she snorted. “You aren’t putting me in the pudding like you did my 
sister!”

I gasped.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I’ve been pretty sure that was what was 
ailing her but I didn’t know who stuck her till now.”

“I have not helped you at all, I see,” I said sadly.

“What do you mean?” she laughed. “You did me up proper for sure.”

“I was trying to guide you, child,” I told her. “If there were time, I 
believe I could have led you closer to God.”

The crazed little creature stood there and laughed like a mad woman. What
a pity, I thought. Such a pretty little thing, and nothing but a slut!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

October 6, 1867

Cecelia and I set out before dawn the next morning. We were just past the
last row of houses when she began berating me furiously. Her sister had run
straight forth to taunt her sister with her experience.

“I tried to teach the child some grace,” I told her hotly. “You should 
have told me how low she had gotten. She needed far more help than I could 
give in one night.”

“You even told her you’d stuck me,” she accused.

“Rebecca told me this, child,” I said wearily. “And much more. I am 
deeply grieved for your soul, Cecelia. Whoring about in dark alleys is 
certainly not what I expected of you. I had hoped your lessons with me had 
taught you better.”

“You taught me to give, Father,” she said. “I used to make boys suffer 
‘terribly and—” She grinned. “I was rather good at it. You changed that, 
Father. I now only want to make them happy.”

I thought about it as we trudged along, and finally I nodded my approval.

“I’m glad you have learned that much,” I said. “You can see what God has 
done for you. He has given you escape from the village at a time when you 
most needed help. I believe he wishes the sacrifice of the child, however.”

“What?” she said, so shocked that she stopped dead in her tracks.

“I forged the letter asking for you, child. I should have no trouble 
finding you a position in the court, but you could hardly work with a 
swollen belly.”

“You mean I don’t have to carry it at all?” she asked incredulously.

“No, Cecelia,” I said firmly. “We shall visit an abortionist along the 
way. They are a loathsome lot but the Lord caused even his only son to 
consort among thieves and prostitutes. It cannot hurt us.”

“Oh! Thank God!” she cried. “Oh, how I hated the thought of my body 
getting fat and ugly!”

“There is plenty of time for that,” I told her, “when you are older.”

“Father, how I love you,” she whispered. “Please, when we pause to rest, 
let me slip beneath your habit and pleasure you!”

“Certainly, child,” I said, patting her sweet little ass. “I would never 
deny my body to you.”

We paused frequently along the way to refresh ourselves, and I found that
the girl loved the danger of people passing by every bit as much as her 
sister. I, too, found it rewarding and several times I talked with people, 
telling them about the goodness of giving as the girl hid in the folds of 
my habit, siphoning off my seed.

At the town of Albacete we spent the night and there was little rest in 
it, for I had never had the girl for more than an hour’s lesson at a time. 
As the night stretched out before us, there was so much that I had to show 
and teach that we were fairly exhausted by morning. We decided to tarry 
until the next morning and perhaps find an abortionist while we were about 
it.

We spent the night in the fields just beyond the town itself. By 
mid-morning, Cecelia was ravenous, so we walked back into the town and 
asked for food. She wolfed down her food before I had hardly begun, and 
when she was through, she took the old woman who had served us aside and 
asked if she knew of someone who could perform the operation.

The old bag snorted. “For a price, I can do it,” she said.

“You were so right, Father!” Cecelia told me excitedly. “God has brought 
us straight to the right person.”

I was overjoyed. I gave the woman the amount she asked and she went into 
her bedroom to prepare for the work. In about ten minutes, she said that 
she was ready.

“Go with a light heart,” I told Cecelia.

“No you don’t Father,” the woman grunted.

“You’ll have to help hold her. It gets a little painful toward the last.”

I was much against the idea, feeling that my services were needed far 
more for prayer than for the dirty business she had in mind. But since 
there was no recourse, I followed her into the cheerless room. Cloth had 
been draped across the window and several lamps lit to take the place of 
the natural light. Cecelia removed her drawers and got on the bed.

“Spread them legs fucking wide,” the hag ordered, and reaching down she 
ran her hand across the tender meat.

Cecelia jumped at the rough caress and when she had rammed her finger 
into the girl’s tunnel, she let out a little cry.

“You’re hurting her,” I accused. “You could spit on that finger and give 
her a bit of moisture.”

“It’s all right for you to fuck her wet,” the woman said. “But it’s got 
to be dry if I’m to hang onto her flesh while I work.”

“Oh.”

Now she stooped down to peer into the girl’s tunnel and she had me hold a
lamp that she could better see.

“Give me that reed,” she ordered, and looking on the shelf she pointed 
to, I found a long, slender reed. It was a tube, being hollow up the 
center, and when I handed it to her she manipulated it into the girl’s 
cunt-hollow. The tip was dry and rather sharp and Cecelia jumped about 
fiercely as she slowly twisted it into her body. Around and around she 
screwed the stick into her, and when Cecelia began to scream, I had to 
throw myself down upon the bed to hold her.

“That ought to do it,” she said finally, but even after she moved away to
get the rest of her tools, Cecelia kept screaming.

“What’s the matter with her?” I asked. “That shouldn’t keep hurting now, 
should it?”

The old woman only shrugged and bent down to continue her work. She had a
long needle in her hand, and she slipped it up the hollow tube.

“Hold her tight now,” she said, and after prodding the tube around a 
moment to be sure it was in the right position, she began jabbing the 
needle into it.

Cecelia’s screams were agonizing. After a few moments, the woman pulled 
tube and needle free and I saw the blood, gushing out of her cunt. I was 
very sick.

* * *

After several hours, Cecelia had not stopped bleeding and the old woman 
sent me out to fetch all the pitch I could scrape from the trees. I worked 
at it diligently, but it took several hours to produce the amount required.
When I returned, Cecelia was much weaker. I could see a whiteness in her 
face as the blood drained away.

“Help me, Father,” she whimpered weakly. Taking her hands in mine, I laid
the rosary across them and went slowly through the beads.

It took some time for the hag to brew up the proper mixture. I began to 
fear I would lose my sweet little pupil before it was finished.

“Will I go to heaven?” the child asked.

“Of course,” I told her. “But not for many years.”

“I am going now,” she informed me but I reproached and scolded, bucking 
her up as best I could.

The woman began packing her cunt, and the hot, sticky paste brought only 
weak whimperings from the child. When it was done, she cleaned up the pools
of blood and departed, leaving me to console the girl as best I could.

The day passed and then the night, but on the morning of the second day 
she was a little better.

“I wish it were over with,” she sighed. “You must get on to Madrid.”

“You talk foolishness, child,” I chided her. “You are in a delirium. When
you awaken you will see it is all a fright of your dreams.”

“I am not afraid, Father,” she said softly. “You have cleared the path 
for me and I am happy to go.”

She closed her eyes, and in a moment she was gone.

I had guided my first soul from the near clutches of the devil to the 
gates of heaven, and I rejoiced that she would now be in no danger of 
reverting to sin. The old woman and I buried Cecelia behind the house and I
delivered the most inspired prayer for her that had ever been given unto 
me. Though I would sorely miss her shining youthfulness, I was confident 
that she was in good hands. My Father would see to that.

CHAPTER TWELVE

October 12, 1867

I was five more days on the road before I came to Madrid. I went straight
off to my bishop. As I had expected, his attitude had taken a complete 
reversal and he promised to guide and counsel me in my new position.

“You will go far, Don Manuel,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I 
will help you all that I can.”

I took my leave of him with his complete and confident blessing.

* * *

At the gates of the palace, I showed the guard the letter and envelope 
from the queen and was greeted most cordially.

“We had begun to think you had met with foul play,” he told me jovially. 
“I have had the warning to be on the lookout for you for over a week.”

“I had to finish up the work in Almansa,” I told him, and after unlocking
the door, he called another man to stand guard while he delivered me safely
to the queen’s guard in person. Word was sent on ahead and again I did not 
have long to wait. Within half an hour, I was escorted to her sitting room 
for an informal audience with her. No one else except for her scribe, her 
counselor, a page and two ladies in waiting were present.

I was most impressed with my sovereign. She was not more than thirty, and
besides a comely appearance, was possessed with a lively, spirited mind.

“I am so glad we found you,” she said after she had questioned me quite 
extensively. “Always, we have petitioned the bishop and they have sent us 
stern, old men. It is time for a brighter, happier person to teach our 
little ones.”

“I want them to find joy in the church, happiness and joy,” she said. “I 
am tired of visions of hell’s fire and the rack!”

“I am in agreement. The happiness of learning to give and to commune with
one another teaches them truer, I think.”

“So true! So true!”

And so I met and found spiritual agreement with her royal majesty, and 
though I saw her little for some time after that, I felt that here was my 
eternal destiny. I could not suppose in what fashion I would be asked to 
serve her. Perhaps the children she had entrusted into my care were the 
whole of it, but serve her I would, for God had meant for me to please this
wondrous woman from the beginning.

I was shown to my quarters by the page and they were indeed grand. A 
suite of rooms, with sitting room, bedchamber and even my own water closet.
The lad suggested that I might like a bath after my dusty journey and I 
readily agreed. Soon the maid servants were toting in kettles of steaming 
water and a tub was brought to my bedchamber and filled. When all had 
departed, I climbed into the delightful cleaning warmth and washed the 
grime from my travel-weary frame. The water was a brown broth by the time I
emerged. I wrapped a towel about me, climbed onto the huge bed and quickly 
fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

I was awakened with a fiery jolt as a hot, wet mouth closed over my 
staff. I groaned and twisted around to find the Duchess working my flesh 
with avid strokes. She had evidently been at it for some time for I was 
more than just fully aroused. I was nearing violent release.

“Ahhh!” I sighed, falling limply back into my pillow and my lethargy from
sleep allowed my sensual emotions their full range. Too weak and groggy to 
strain against her, I simply lay there and allowed her to pleasure me. It 
was wondrously good. The fire raced through my relaxed body and I could but
moan and sigh at the marvel of her siphoning lips.

Her hands were as busy as her lips, tickling sensuously across my belly, 
kneading my sac with arduous abandon.

I did not speak to her, not even greeting her or calling out her name. To
speak would have asked for a reply in kind, and her lips were too 
beautifully filled to chance it. How I would have loved to have watched her
work, yet I could not bear to tense even so much as one muscle. My body 
began to shiver and jerk in a convulsion of passion and I groaned in an 
agony of delight.

“Ohhhh!” my moans rolled out of my belly and every muscle and sinew of my
body throbbed with the vibrant, hot sensations that possessed me. To my 
very core I was one, hugely spasming organ.

“Ahhh!” I gasped as the fire rose and crested over me.

In the glow of warm, throbbing release, I welcomed my Duchess back to her
teacher and she told me of her great loneliness in my absence.

“And is the court a place of sin?” I asked.

“Oh yes, Father. You have much work that needs to be done.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

October 13,1867

The next morning, I met the children and they were lovely to look upon. 
The girls wore gowns every bit as full and decorous as their mothers, with 
voluminous skirts held far away from the body with stiff crinolines. The 
pert little breasts of the older girls were fully displayed by the wide, 
low cut of their necklines while their sleeves were as bouffant as their 
skirts. The wide range of colors from crimson to pale blue made the mass 
look like a delicious flower garden. Most wore a cluster of springy curls 
at each ear. The boys wore anything from velvet britches and ruffled shirts
to suits cut to resemble the military.

In age, they ran from six or seven on up to thirteen but I would judge 
that the mass were about ten or eleven. When I led them to chapel, the 
young ladies whipped out mantillas from between their breasts and quickly 
covered their hair. Their pious little faces were a joy I cannot begin to 
describe, and the looks of adoration from the older girls gave me to know I
would find rapport with their lives.

Already, I knew what the Lord expected of me but I realized, too, that 
caution must be exercised. One truculent moppet could cause me grave 
consequences in the evil atmosphere of the court and I should begin my work
by taking only one child at a time and sounding them out well before 
proceeding.

I told them of the spirit of giving and how I would expect them to learn 
the ways of men before they could hope to know God. They understood little 
of it, but sat dutifully obedient until I had finished. One little girl in 
particular caught my eye, for even during prayer she cast continual looks 
in my direction. I finished my lecture by telling them I would call on each
in turn for a private audience and I would expect them to keep themselves 
in readiness. Then I pointed to the flirtatious little moppet and I told 
her I should speak with her first in my study. I also pointed out a young 
man of about the same age and told him to wait outside my chambers. The 
little girl fairly danced into the room and closed the door behind us.

“Can you tell me the meaning of my lecture, this morning?” I asked.

“Yes, Father,” she said prettily and repeated the whole of it almost 
verbatim.

“Good!” I said, congratulating her. “How old are you child?”

“Thirteen,” she answered proudly.

“And have you learned to give?” I asked.

She seemed perplexed.

“Do you bring happiness to the little boys in your class?” I explained.

Her face flushed.

“Don’t be ashamed, my dear,” I told her. “That is. giving, is it not?”

A twinkle appeared in her eye, but she could not answer.

“How do you pleasure them?” I asked, but she was still not sure of 
herself enough to answer.

“Do the other girls do the same?” I asked, taking a different tack to 
draw her out.

Painfully, she shook her head.

“Why?” I wanted to know.

“They… they are afraid they will get caught,” she stuttered miserably.

“And you are not?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said almost in a whisper. “I am sorely afraid, but I do it 
anyway.”

“What do you do?” I demanded.

Again her head dropped and she began wringing her hands feverishly.

“Can you show me?” I asked.

She gasped, and then, as she looked up at me, she began to shiver.

“On you?” she asked and I could see that she wanted to touch me so bad 
she could scarcely contain herself.

“No,” I told her. “With the boy waiting out there.”

I pointed toward the door, and her disappointment was obvious.

“In front of you?” she whimpered.

I nodded.

“I… I don’t think I could,” she whined.

“Would it be easier to show me without the boy?” I asked.

She studied me for a long time and finally nodded.

“Well,” she said with a deep sigh. “Usually it starts with a kiss or two.
You know. Then they want to touch my… my titties.”

I leaned over and brushed my hand over her decolletage.

“Lake this?” I asked.

A shiver ran through her.

“Oh, yesss,” she whispered. “Only they never feel that nice.”

“Go on,” I said.

“I don’t think I can tell you,” she said, but her voice was far more 
pleading than afraid. “Can I show you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I told her.

She stepped up to me and quickly unhooked one button of my habit. Then 
she ran her hand through the opening and curled around my hardened staff.

“Ohh, it’s so big!” she exclaimed, as she pulled it through the opening.

Before I could stop her, she began to slide my joy.

“Is that all?” I asked with a moan.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Doesn’t it feel nice? The boys all say it feels 
nice.”

“And what do they do to you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she answered. “They even stop kissing once I take hold of 
them.”

With a terrible effort, I took her hand away from my staff and, forcing 
the quivering flesh inside my frock, I rebuttoned myself. The child looked 
as if she were about to cry. She stared at me with near hatred as though I 
had tricked her, and when I went to call the boy into the study, she would 
not look at either of us.

“Young man,” I said sternly. “You are a selfish lot of boys. I have told 
you that giving is the most important duty of God’s children. You have not 
given until now, only taking from this sweet, noble child. And she has 
given and never received reward.”

The boy stared at me at a total loss for he could not understand what I 
was speaking about.

“I told you that you must learn the ways of man, and this afternoon I am 
going to teach you both to commune in the flesh so that you will better 
understand the communion with God.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered and he was scared half out of his wits.

“Put your trust in me, the both of you, and I will give you a great 
spiritual awakening. Now, bearing in mind at all times that this little 
girl is the child of God, I want you to put your hand to her neckline and 
toy with her swollen flesh.”

Four eyes nearly burst from their sockets.

“What?” croaked the boy.

“Play with her tits, boy,” I urged. “Just as you have before. Pretend 
that I am not here. I want to see how you do it. Then I will show you how 
it should properly be done.”

Their faces turned scarlet as they began to grin.

“You mean, it’s all right?” he asked.

“Certainly, boy,” I told him. “God gave you feelings. Use them.”

The boy sidled over to the girl and slowly kissed her, slyly raising his 
hands until he was squeezing her tits like some coarse farmer milking a 
cow.

“No! No!” I chided him. “Stand away, lad, and I will show you.”

The boy was already panting as he regretfully dropped his hands.

“First, just graze the flesh that is showing. See how lightly I touch 
them. They are jewels, son, not the tits of some bovine. Seduce them. Make 
her feel the glory of her adornment.”

“Ahhh!” sighed the girl and the boy quickly returned to try his hand at 
it.

“What do you do next?” I asked, and the boy eagerly jumped away and 
unbuttoned his pants.

“No! No!” I scolded. “Oh, how coarse you are! You have not even half 
aroused this child. Tell me, son. How far can you get with the other 
girls?”

He shrugged. “They like their tits squeezed, but they won’t do no more.”

“No wonder,” I sighed. “You have not given them anything. Giving, lad! 
That is the important part. Now watch. See how I scoop out her tender 
flesh—never squeezing like some peasant farmer, but loving, tenderly 
adoring the lush mounds.”

“Gad!” he gasped. “I never got to the nipple before.”

“That was because you were in a rush to take. You first must give! Now, 
you try it.”

“Unngh!” the girl moaned as I let her flesh fall back into its cradle.

The boy eagerly stepped forward and lifted the full flesh into his hands.

“Ohhh,” he groaned. “Isn’t that grand?”

“Now,” I told him. “Lean over and brush your lips against that perky 
little nipple.”

“Gad!” he groaned, and jumped to obey.

“Easy, boy,” I cautioned. “Go easy. You are giving—giving—remember that 
always!”

“Ahhh!” the girl moaned at the feel of his hot breath and soft lips.

“You may suckle her a bit if you like,” I told him. “But remember to be 
gentle.”

“Unngh!” he groaned as the nipple slid into his mouth and the girl was so
weak with the feel of it that she nearly swooned.

“Now, whisper to her lad,” I told him. “Beg her to release your fire. Beg
her to slip her hands into your breeches and cuddle you.”

Both of them were shaking so fiercely that the boy was speechless, 
sucking so convulsively that he could not draw away in spite of my order. 
With palsied hands, the girl searched out his fly and slipped her hand into
the hot moisture of his crotch.

“Eyiii!” the boy cried as she found his pikestaff and curled her hand 
about it.

“Gently, girl,” I cautioned her. “It is the boy’s glory. Touch it 
worshipfully. Bring it out into the open and slide it with giving love.”

The boy was shaking in a frightful manner as she brought out his small 
prick and before I could cry out for caution, the throbbing cock began 
spurting out its seed. With a groan of disgust, I slumped back into the 
chair, shaking my head in disgust. The boy was just too fast, too hot, too 
wild. My task was certainly cut out for me. Then I looked at the girl and 
the tears were streaming down her cheeks as she stood there shaking in a 
convulsion of disappointment. Her tits still bulged from her gown and her 
skirts were in a terrible disarray but her tense little misery-filled body 
was the worst of it.

“Lie down, child,” I said gently.

She could not even walk, so violent was her shivering. I carried her to 
the bed and her crinoline petticoats lifted her skirt high as I laid her 
down on the mattress.

“Come here,” I told the boy, who was still gasping for air.

“See the condition you have left this poor child in?” I asked.

I reached down and pressed my hand against the crotch of her bloomers and
she jumped with a start.

“Ohhh!” she cried and when I touched her again the shivering went away.

Slowly, I pulled her bloomers down over her thighs and the boy’s eyes 
bulged as her soft hairless lips emerged.

“A kiss or two in the right place is a gift you should always deliver for
what she has given you,” I scolded the boy, and leaning down over her I 
pressed my lips to her hot, shivering flesh.

“Aaayyy!” she cried, her ass jerking wildly up off the bed.

“See how it pleasures her?” I told the boy. “Now watch, closely.”

I again pressed my lips on her searing, puffy flesh. Slowly, I slipped my
tongue into her seething river of weeping membranes. My tongue slithered 
about, searching for her bud, and when I felt it throbbing up against the 
tip of my tongue, I beat out a hot staccato of stabs against it.

“Ohhh! Ohhh! Ohhh!” she screamed, and I sucked her molten meat into my 
mouth and flurried her wildly.

“Eyyiii!” she wailed, twisting about as the crest gripped her body.

“Gad!” the boy groaned and I saw that he was sliding his own joy into a 
second peak.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

October 14, 1967

Were it not for the knowledge that the Lord’s hand was guiding me, I 
should have to say that I had chosen wisely, for the two children assured 
me that they were the most advanced in sexual experiments. I was happy that
I had come before their habits could be set in an ungodly-like way. When 
they had arranged their clothing and righted their coiffures, I had them 
sit before me and listen to what I had to tell them.

“Have you learned from this lesson?” I asked them.

“Oh yes, Father!” they agreed in unison.

“I asked to see you perform for a very special reason. I cannot know how 
best to teach you of man until I know how much you have learned on your own
as well as discerning how many bad habits have been formed.”

“Yes, Father,” the boy said. “I shall practice diligently.”

The little girl giggled.

“What are your names?” I asked.

“I am Gino, and this is Marta.”

“Together, we must decide what is the best way to teach the other 
children,” I told them. “It must be a gentle, pleasant experience if we are
to carry them through to God.”

“You mean it?” Marta asked. “Are you really going to teach the others 
what you have taught us?”

“Certainly!” I exclaimed. “How else can I teach them of man?”

“Oooh!” she sighed. “My mother would throw a fit!”

“Why?” I asked. “Is she not well versed in the art to have born you?”

The pair tittered.

“I… I guess so, though somehow I can’t picture it.”

“Then perhaps it is better that we say nothing,” I concluded.

“Promise?” asked the girl eagerly. “Really, Father, many of the parents 
would take their children away if they even dreamed—” I shook my head. “It 
sounds devious. The Lord, himself, has set me on this mission, and I would 
be ashamed to hide his word.”

“Please?” she begged piteously.

“Yes, Father!” gasped the boy. “My parents would have me tarred if they 
heard even an inkling.”

“Oh, very well,” I said. “We shall have to be like the first Christians 
who hid in the catacombs.”

“Ohhh, thank goodness!” Marta sighed. “I am much relieved.”

“One thing,” I told them. “You must stop your diddling about in the 
corners and recesses of the court. Love and giving will be reserved for our
worship and it will be done in a godly manner.”

“All of us—together?” the boy gasped.

“Yes,” I answered. “I think the Lord would prefer it that way.”

“Gad!” said the boy with a shiver. “I shall never miss a service.”

“And that is how it should be,” I laughed. “Now run along and speak with 
your friends about this. We shall meet tomorrow at dusk in the chapel.”

“Don’t tell the squealers,” Gino cautioned the girl. “Goodbye, Father. It
is really good having you with us.”

There was much to be done. I went to the wardrobe mistress first off and 
asked if there were any choir gowns.

“Certainly Father,” she said. “How many would you need?”

“I want children’s gowns,” I told her. “Short tunics for the boys and 
long ones for the girls with cords to fasten them at the waist.

“Well, let’s see,” I said thoughtfully, consulting my notes for a moment.
“I have twenty-two children, but at least ten are quite small. Hmmmmm, let 
me have half a dozen short ones and half a dozen long ones for the older 
children. White would be nice, and perhaps blue for the younger children.”

“Are they to be worn over their clothing or in place of it?”

“Oh, I should say in place of it,” I answered. “I don’t like the look of 
the other, what with the young ladies wearing such poofed up sleeves and 
skirts. They seem to poke out at all the wrong places.”

The good lady laughed. “Then you want something more like a toga. We had 
some angel costumes last year for Christmas. I have fifteen of those. I can
make some for the younger ones as soon as I send out for the material.”

“I won’t be needing the smaller ones for a time, anyway,” I fold her.

She showed me what she had, and they were exactly what I wanted.

“Of course, the boys’ garments will have to be taken up,” she said. “What
will they be wearing under them?”

I thought for a long moment and could think of no logical explanation to 
give her.

“The reason I asked is—well, we had a play in the schoolroom and some of 
the children were Indians. They had so much fun with the loincloths that we
all had to—”

“That’s perfect!” I exclaimed. “It is good to learn of the people of the 
Spanish lands!”

“I hoped you would not take it amiss,” she said, seemingly very pleased 
at my liberal attitude.

“I think it’s wonderful,” I said, overjoyed at what I had accomplished 
already. “I want those children to form a choir and I want them to take 
real pride in it. If a ridiculous loincloth makes those boys feel more 
manly, so be it. I wanted their robes short, so that they wouldn’t feel 
like girls. The loin clothes will be even better.”

That should separate the older children from the younger, I thought 
happily. I had received from my Lord a directive for the training of 
children old enough to understand. As to the younger ones, I would wait for
my Lord to speak.

* * *

All the children came to chapel but there were ten of the older ones 
clustered together and their minds were not on the service. These, I was 
sure, were ready for my teachings. As I went through the beautiful, 
meaningful liturgy, my mind was filled with the wonder of the task ahead. I
spoke to them that night of love—love for one’s fellow man.

“I am going to ask this night for volunteers to sing the praises of the 
Lord, for we are going to have a choir when visitors come and we shall make
beautiful music together for the glory of our Lord. This is loving one’s 
fellow man, my children, for when you raise your voices on high to bring 
happiness to those about you, you are showing a sublime love. Let us pray.”

Toward the end of the Mass, the older children became fidgety, and I knew
they had expected some exciting things to happen during the service. I 
smiled to myself at their eagerness. I also noted the two older girls 
sitting with the younger children and wondered why they had not been 
included in the other’s confidence. One was a plump, pimpled little girl, 
and though she was somewhat taller and larger than any of the other 
children, she seemed younger by far than the group at the other side of the
congregation. I decided that she must be slow in maturing and would 
probably be happier with the younger ones. She could mother them and be 
perfectly happy, and there was no danger of her being taught any bad 
habits. No teenaged boy would have bothered to show her interest.

The other girl was a different matter, for of all the children, she was 
the most beautiful. Her skin was of the creamiest color and texture of any 
I had ever seen in my life, and her hair was thick and black and very long.
Everything about her, in fact, was so exceptional that I could not 
understand why she should not have been the first to have been coaxed into 
the group. Her lashes and brows were thick and rich, her mouth small but 
full and sensuous. Her breasts, though fully covered, appeared to have 
reached a more advanced maturity than any of the others except, of course, 
her fat little friend. Curiously, I stole secret glances at her during the 
later part of the Mass and finally decided that she was too shy and 
reserved to have entered their confidences.

I was not at all surprised to see the group of ten older children quickly
come forward to offer themselves to staff my choir. The other two girls 
held back a moment, but when the younger children also came forward, they 
came along with them and I found myself with two dozen volunteers, “Thank 
you,” I said, showing my gratitude with a hearty smile.

The older group seemed alarmed by the presence of the others until I told
them that there would be two choirs.

“We shall have the younger up in the loft to the left and the older here 
to the right. Now, I shall need one or two volunteers to help me with the 
younger children for I confess, I am not at all good at this as yet.”

A titter ran through the crowd as the young ladies hid their mouths 
behind quickly raised hands. The fat little girl quickly volunteered and 
after a few moment’s hesitation, so did her friend.

“Oh, I do thank you two young ladies,” I said happily and I asked them to
bring the little ones to me at ten the next morning. The older ones should 
go directly to the loft and we would begin their training tonight.

A wave of excitement ran through the older children as they scurried to 
the balcony. I bade the others good night and followed them up the darkened
stairs.

“All right, children,” I said, raising my hand for attention. “We are 
going to start off right from the beginning wearing the proper robes. If 
the young ladies will go the left and the gentlemen to the right, you will 
all find your robes waiting for you. Fold all of your clothing neatly and 
hang your frocks in the dressing stalls. Wear only the consecrated clothing
when you come to raise your voices to the Lord.”

“All of it?” One little girl asked with a naughty giggle.

“All of it,” I answered sternly. “I want no earthy raiment left on my 
choir, for I intend that you shall all sing and behave like angels.”

I distinctly saw several of the girls shiver with delight as they fled.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When the children returned, they looked like angels. The girls wore their
long golden cords crossed over their breasts and wound about their tiny 
waists. All boning, crinolines, and laced corsetry was gone, leaving their 
bodies soft and pliant. Their sweet breasts were free and natural, breaking
into the soft folds of their gowns with quivering, pointed promise.

The strong, sturdy legs of the boys brought titters from the girls and a 
few lads lifted their tunics teasingly to show off their loincloths, 
bringing more squeals of delight. I wondered if I would ever get any 
semblance of order out of such a group of squirming little bodies.

“Here! Here!” I cried. “Hush, children. Please!”

They turned expectantly and in a moment were amazingly still.

“That’s better,” I told them. “Now, I want the girls over here in a 
line—boys there. Ahh! That’s good. Now, face each other. Get the lines 
straight. That’s not straight. Let’s line up at arm’s length. Ahh, that’s 
it!”

The boys raised their arms immediately, catching the feel of more than 
one breast in the process, but though there were titters at the stolen 
touch, they were no longer boisterous or unruly.

“Now, let’s bunch those lines in tighter. Come on. Hips and shoulders 
touching all the way down. Ahhh! That’s it. Now, I want each line to take 
one step forward and very quietly get down on your knees.”

Looking at the tight rows of children, the girl’s knees touching the boys
while their friends were pressed tightly to their sides, my heart was 
filled with an inexpressible joy.

“You are lovely, my children,” I told them and my voice was choked with 
emotion. “Let us pray.”

Dutifully, they bowed their heads and after a short prayer, I spoke to 
them of love, God’s greatest gift.

“Love makes the most beautiful of all music,” I told them. “I have 
brought you close together here that you might learn to know the meaning of
true love. It is a giving thing. Happiness, itself, means to give, and the 
joy of giving brings happiness. Now, can each of you feel the warmth and 
love of your neighbor generating through you? Marta, can you feel the 
warmth of the body on either side of you?”

“Yes, Father,” she answered solemnly.

“All of you! Do you feel it? Harmony! That’s what you must feel. You must
need what your neighbor needs, sorrow with your neighbor’s sorrow, and feel
the pain that touches your neighbor’s body. This is what ‘love thy neighbor
as thyself’ really means. You’ve all said it, but do you feel it?”

“Yes!” they chorused.

“Fine! Now, when you were lining up, you boys brushed against some of the
girls’ breasts, and you thought it was very funny. Yes, and so did the 
girls. What is funny about touching a glory formed by the hand of God? If 
this is truly your spiritmate—if you really feel what your neighbor feels 
then should not such a caress be a reverent, worshipful touch? Boys, when I
give you the word, I want you to reach across and touch the breasts of the 
girl across from you as though you were touching the statue of the Reverend
Mother, herself. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” came the soft replies, but they were no longer the bravados of 
naughty, coarse boyhood. The sweat poured from their temples and they were 
shivering with anticipation as were the girls. There was not one smile in 
either line.

“Now,” I said quietly, and the boys reached forward and their hands were 
shaking as they explored the virginal breasts.

“Could you form anything half so beautiful?” I asked, and, one by one, 
they shook their heads.

“Consider how the mere touch of those lovely jewels stirs the loins and 
fires the desires. No manmade object could hold such a power. Touching a 
girl tenderly as you are doing now is a giving thing. You are giving her 
great pleasure. And girls, the pleasure you give these boys is 
indescribable. If you will each reach down and slip your hands inside of 
your partner’s loincloth, you will find that his organ is swollen and hard 
and it quivers violently at your touch. Be as gentle in your touch as the 
boys are with your breasts. Give him pleasure as he is giving you pleasure.

. “Now, while you girls touch the boys, take care not to slide their joy,
or they will become too greatly inflamed and no longer as giving as they 
should be. Boys, you will find the neckline of your partner pulls down 
quite easily and a gentle kiss on the girl’s flesh would be greatly 
appreciated. No! You there! You are too rough!”

Marching over to stand behind the girl, I slid my hand down beneath the 
neck of her gown and scooped out her lush little cupcake. Pulling her to 
stand before me, I lowered my head to her breast and brushed my lips across
her flesh.

“Ohhh!” she moaned, locking her arms about my neck.

“Now, when you have kissed all of her delicious flesh, you may gently 
suck upon the nipple no harder than this.”

I demonstrated the proper method, and the girl shuddered convulsively in 
my arms.

“Yesss, Father,” Father,” she moaned. “Oh yes, yes. Yes!”

I turned her around and gently forced her back into her place, though she
whimpered miserably.

“Now let me see you try it,” I told the lad. This time, he did it 
admirably. The girl was soon moaning with delight.

I could see the boys were all coming along much too fast, so I ordered 
the girls to withdraw their hands from their loins, and the boys looked at 
me with misery and suffering in their eyes.

“Ah, boys, but you have not as yet seen what heavenly delights the girls 
have to offer. Would the girls please stand?”

They got eagerly to their feet and I moved up behind the girl at the end.
Reaching around, I slowly drew her skirts up about her waist.

“Like this, girls. They must see where your ache lies, for the love toy 
of a woman is a delicate, thing—one which may not be handled roughly. Do 
you see those full, puffy lips, boys? For a time, do not let yourself think
of what is beyond those lovely portholes. Leave the tight crease as it is, 
and touch only the fiery lips. Gently, gently.”

One boy could not resist lifting his face to kiss the sensuous morsel.

“That’s it, lad. You have the feeling. Love is giving. Giving! God loves 
those who give!”

The sight of the boy’s spontaneous tenderness excited me greatly, and the
girl that received this tribute of love was nearly faint with desire.

“Ahhh!” she cried as his lips trembled against her and when he slipped 
his tongue in to taste of her weeping crease, she wobbled weakly and would 
have fallen had not the girls on either side helped to brace her.

“Me! Me!” whimpered another girl, arching her cunt forward hungrily and 
the boys, one by one, pressed their lips into the searing flesh of those 
precious naked lips. Not one had sprouted so much as one hair, and their 
bare, silky flesh was so erotically sensual that just the sight of them was
enough to drive a man over the brink.

“That’s enough!” I called, but most of them were too engrossed to pay me 
any heed.

One by one, I forced them apart, careful to press heavily against the 
girl’s lips for a moment to still the ache the boys had raised.

“Have the boys brought you happiness, girls?” I asked.

“Yes!” they chorused.

“Then, let us please them a moment. Only a moment, remember, for they are
hot little lovers.”

The titter that ran through them broke the tension and Marta led the way 
by dropping to her knees and pushing the loincloth aside to suck Gino’s 
cock into her mouth.

“Ahhh!” the boy screamed. “Dear God-all-mighty!”

“That’s right!” I cried. “Praise the Lord for what is being given you!”

The girls all gave in to it, though some acted as though it were 
distasteful to them until they had tried it. After they had sucked upon the
male flesh, it was all I could do to draw them away.

“Get back! Get back, I say,” and roughly I pulled them away.

Now the children stood there, shaking violently as they looked at me 
desperately for direction.

“We must take one step at a time, children,” I told them. “For tonight, 
move your lines tightly together and press your bodies together. Boys, you 
may slide your joy in the sweetmeat of your partner’s slit. No more. Keep 
your lines straight and stay close together. You are loving together, 
children. You are learning of one another’s bodies, of one another’s need. 
Just ram that stick against her, boy. That’s the way. Now, isn’t that the 
sweetest music any of you have ever heard?”

“Yesss!” they groaned and their wild, spirited bodies slammed their fire 
into one another as they worked in a frenzy for release. One by one, they 
shuddered into their release and I watched carefully lest any be left 
unfulfilled. When several had dropped, I re-parted the others until they 
were all fulfilled except for two little shivering girls. Reaching down, I 
quickly climaxed one with my fingers, and I knelt to finish the other off 
with my lips. Her flesh was slimy with come and her hot membranes quaked 
with her need. As I slid my tongue into her flesh and flurried her 
throbbing bud, she gripped my hair with her fists and convulsed into a wild
orgasm.

“Ahhh!” she screamed and I caught her as she fell, easing her body down 
onto the floor.

“Father,” Marta whispered.

I turned around and saw her standing there, her skirts still bunched at 
her waist.

“Who is to give you release?” she asked. “You can’t always be the one to 
give.”

“It is my duty,” I told her.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Let me suck on your staff. That one time I felt
of it, I’ve been mad to pleasure you ever since.”

Gently, I patted the thoughtful child on the head.

“Thank you, Marta,” I told her. “But my life is dedicated to giving. I 
receive only when it is necessary in order to bring a soul to God.”

“Gad! How can you stand it?” Gino asked.

“I pray,” I said simply. “The Lord has called me to teach you, not to 
pleasure myself. The court is an evil place, full of all sort of depravity.
Had the Lord, left you to learn on your own about love, you probably would 
have learned only of lust. This he can no longer tolerate. You must all 
promise me to try very hard not to be affected by the older people about 
you. Let me guide you. We will meet as often as you like. We will glory 
together in one another’s flesh and commune with the blessings of our Lord.
In return, I beg of you not to follow in the sordid ways of the men and 
women of this court.”

There were tears in my eyes when I finished. My task meant so much to the
future of God’s kingdom that I was choked with emotion.

“It isn’t just a game!” one little girl whispered to her friend, and I 
knew then that I had reached their hearts and I was exceedingly glad.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

October 15,1867

After the children had dressed in their regular clothes, we prayed 
together and I sent them home.

“Marta,” I said, calling the child aside for a moment. “Tell me about the
older girls who did not come tonight.”

“Oh! Well,” she giggled, “there weren’t enough boys to go around and old 
fatty Consuelo—no one would be caught dead with her!”

“That is not loving. That is not what I taught you,” I told her sternly. 
“What about the other girl?”

“Maria is too shy,” she complained. “She has never even let a boy kiss 
her, and we were afraid she’d run and tell.”

“Thank you, Marta,” I said. “I just wanted to know.”

“Is that all, Father?”

“Yes, Marta. You may go now.”

I walked thoughtfully to my study. I was not sure how to go about helping
the other two. Something would have to be done for the Lord had set my path
and to make exceptions did not seem right. The little plump girl was quite 
immature and could wait a bit, but the other girl certainly was not!

I thought about it that night for some time since I could not get to 
sleep. When the Duchess slipped into my chambers just before midnight, I 
was considerably relieved! The responsibilities of handling these sweet, 
dear children had weighed upon me heavily, but the misery that had caused 
to my aching cock was too great even to describe. Yet, I could not 
interject my own needs into their training, for they were matched off 
evenly and I took this to mean that the Lord had no need of my service in 
this respect. Only if there was an extra girl would I be needed, and then, 
perhaps, I could use whoever it turned out to be for demonstrating what was
expected of the others.

The Duchess did not leave my chambers until just before dawn, and we 
experimented in many wonderful forms of communion which the Lord put into 
my brain. By dawn, though I had not slept, I was thoroughly and completely 
refreshed and ready to begin my duties.

After an early Mass, to which all of the children attended, I sent the 
older ones to their class and led the younger to the loft to begin their 
choir practice. Though their voices were untrained, there was a sweetness 
and purity which was most pleasing to my ears.

And Maria pleased my eyes. While Consuelo fluttered about mothering the 
brood of youngsters, Maria sat very still, singing when told to sing, and 
saying nothing between songs. Her demurely lowered eyes charmed me and I 
determined to speak to her after the practice was over. Just looking at her
made my cock rise to attention and I was sure it was the Lord’s doing.

It is wrong for her to be with the younger ones, he seemed to say to me. 
She must learn with the others. She is to be yours to help you demonstrate 
and guide the others.

I would have to take great care with her, bringing her along slowly until
she was ready and eager. No coarse young lad could be trusted with such a 
delicate task. This child’s training was up to me. What joy it would be to 
see her blossom forth, fulfilling God’s design.

When the first practice was over, I asked her to come to my study. She 
looked flustered but said nothing, and followed along dutifully behind me.

I asked her to be seated, and then I went around and sat across from her 
with the desk between us. I did not want to frighten her. She was a 
delicate, fragile butterfly who would be crushed if one reached to capture 
her. One wrong move and she would flutter quickly away.

“Maria,” I said. “Tell me why you are never with the older children? I 
can understand Consuelo choosing to stay with the younger ones, for she is 
still quite young at heart but this is not the case with you.”

“I prefer Consuelo to the others,” she said firmly.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she is decent and fine and clean,” she said.

“And the others?” I wondered.

“They are—are nasty,” she said with obvious distaste.

Her pert little nose wrinkled up and she shivered with her disgust for 
them.

“Because they like boys?” I asked.

“Yes. And other things,” she said.

“What other things?” I demanded gently.

She lowered her head and began wringing her hands.

“I can’t talk about it,” she said finally.

“Not even to me?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Not even to you.”

“Why, Maria?” I demanded. “God wants the girls to like boys, you know. 
When they reach a certain age, he puts feelings into their bodies and they 
are important feelings. They lead to marriage and children and motherhood. 
You want this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered as her little chin began to quiver.

“But you don’t like the boys,” I chided.

She stared up at me for a long, tearful moment and then ducked her head 
very low.

“I like boys,” she admitted. “But I just can’t throw myself at them 
and—and they do naughty things. Even that is not so ‘bad as the girls—” 
Then she began to cry, and I hurried around the edge of the desk and took 
the child into my arms.

“What about the girls?” I asked at this point, I was truly puzzled.

“They… they play with—ea… each other,” she sobbed.

“My God!” I gasped and the thought of the lush little breasts rolling 
around together made me shiver with horror.

“I… I can’t let them play with me,” she wailed.

“No! No! Of course not, child. I don’t want them playing with you. No 
wonder you have such a horror of something so beautiful. I will help you 
all that I can, and I promise that they will not try to debase you ever 
again.”

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to tell. It is just 
that—I can’t do it!”

“Could not let a boy touch you?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, don’t worry about it now,” I told her. “You keep coming with the 
younger ones and we’ll work it out together.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said, drying her eyes.

“We’ll have a talk each day after choir practice.”

“Oh thank you, Father,” she said and her delight made her eyes shine. 
“I’d like that so much!”

“Fine. Tomorrow then.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

That night, when I had finished the Mass, I went to my office to change, 
and when I reached the loft the children were already dressed in their 
choir gowns and waiting with eager anticipation. Already, they had formed 
into the two lines I had asked for the night before and were smiling and 
laughing as I came up the stairs.

“We’re ready, sir!” Gino called.

“Then please go sit in the chairs,” I told them sadly.

Their looks of disappointment and apprehension were considerable as they 
got to their feet and moved back to the wall where the chairs were lined 
up.

“Children,” I said. “I must be certain in my heart that you understand 
what I am trying to do for you. I have learned that some of you have 
already experimented with depravity and, therefore, I have decided to 
conduct a confession here before we start out lesson. I shall go over to 
the far corner and any of you that have something that should be confessed 
will please come to me, one by one.”

“What do you mean, Father?” Gino asked. “What have we done?”

I looked at their questioning faces and then I knew that the poor little 
lambs did not understand the difference between lust and love.

“Children, when you touch one another, if it is done in the spirit of 
love and generosity, that is love. When you touch yourselves or lust after 
one of your own kind, that is lust.”

I looked into their faces to see if they understood and the questioning 
frowns were still there.

“Father?” asked Marta, “That can’t mean girls, for they are far more 
gentle than boys except for last night. You say we must be generous and 
loving, and girls are always that way. Boys are, only when you train them.”

I had never thought about such a thing before, and I must admit that it 
stumped me.

“Marta, I’m not sure about this. I shall pray to God for an answer and we
shall postpone the confession until tomorrow night.”

The children whooped with delight.

“All right,” I said, signaling for silence. “Will each of you boys choose
a partner?”

Within seconds they were all paired off.

“Tonight, we are going to commune with nature,” I announced. “It is such 
a balmy night that we are all going to go out to the arbor at the far end 
of the rose garden. I want to walk along slowly, breathing in God’s fine 
air and reveling in the beauty of his handiwork. Pause to enjoy each 
other’s company along the way. I want you to feel the spirit of God and the
love of your fellow man.”

They looked at me curiously for a moment and then, two by two, they 
departed. I had decided to let them perform as came naturally to them this 
once so that I could gauge where they most needed help. I did not even 
follow them immediately but returned to my study where I prayed for the 
Lord’s help in guiding them. I had just finished and got to my feet when I 
realized that I was not alone. A low cough—a shuffling of feet—I turned and
saw the plump little Consuelo standing beside the door and her face was 
scarlet.

“Father,” she whimpered.

“Yes, child?” I asked.

“I heard! I heard it all and I saw!” she wailed. “Yes?” I asked, greatly 
perplexed by the curious look on her face.

“I want it, too!” she cried. “I want to be—be fucked like the other 
girls!”

“Why, Consuelo?” I asked.

“I have feelings, just like they do!” she whimpered. “None of them will 
play with me and now they have the boys and boys hate me, too!”

“Come here, child,” I said gently. “You must first tell me the truth. Do 
you want to be loved because your loins ache and your breasts tingle or is 
it only because the others are doing it?”

“I want it! I want it!” she cried.

“But why, Consuelo? Why?” I demanded.

The tears poured from her eyes and she reached up and kneaded her hands 
against her oversized breasts. Her body rocked back and forth as she sobbed
and her loneliness was so intense that my heart ached for her.

“Come here, child,” I said gently and when she did not move, I went to 
her.

I unhooked her bodice, and she was so distraught that she could not stop 
sobbing until I opened her gown and took her huge melons into my hands.

“Ohhh!” she moaned as she fell hotly against me..

“I know what loneliness is,” I told her. “God has sent me to ease the 
life of the lonely. Whenever your body sorrows for love, come to me and I 
will heal it.”

“Ohhh!” her gasping cries went on and on as I grazed my hands across her 
full mammary flesh.

She was totally helpless, shuddering and moaning with such fierce ardor 
that she was immobilized and rendered powerless. I undressed her, garment 
by garment, as she shivered and pressed against my caressing hands, Such a 
fat little body, her breasts larger than most full-grown women’s, yet most 
of it was baby fat, for the rest of her was totally immature. She stood 
there so vulnerable, her condition so near to a state of shock that I took 
up a blanket and wrapping it about her, I sat down in my easy chair and 
pulled her into my lap.

“Sweet child,” I whispered. “Your need is great. Your body yearns for 
tenderness. Does my touch make you happy?”

“Y… yes, Father,” she stuttered.

My hand brushed down her belly and into her groin.

“Does this please you?” I whispered.

“Ahhh!” she wailed as my finger reached her throbbing lips. “Ooo, Father.
More! More!”

“You like to be petted. Yes. You need to be loved.”

“Love me, Father,” she gasped, spreading her legs wide as she pressed her
cunt up into my hand and rubbed a circle into my fingers.

“Ahhh!” she whimpered. “Ohhh!”

Never had I seen such a burning need—such inflamed ardor. She threw her 
head and shoulders back over the arm of the chair and lifted her tit to be 
kissed. One leg was slung over the other arm while the other stretched to 
the floor. In the throes of her passion she fucked her cunt up into the air
with a frenzied, whimpering desperation. I reached under her ass and 
unbuttoned a portion of my habit, allowing my cock to stab up between her 
legs. I thought perhaps it might pleasure her just to know it was there and
erect, but it was not enough for the passionate child for when her body 
brushed against it, she jerked forward and touched it with her hand.

“Eyiii!” she screamed and jumping up from my lap, she whirled about and 
straddled me.

“It will hurt greatly,” I told her. “Don’t!”

But there was no stopping her. Shivering violently, she fitted my prick 
into her hot little cove and slowly lowered herself onto it. Her face 
grimaced and then became set with determination. She did not breathe until 
she had fully impaled herself.

“Ahhh!” she sighed. “Oh, God, Father, it is so good! So good! How I’ve 
dreamed of being fucked.

I’ve worked myself into a frenzy through the nights trying to satisfy 
this terrible ache—but it is not enough! It can’t be enough to do it 
alone!”

Slowly, she began raising and lowering herself against me, the soft, 
vacant smile of passion lighting her face as her eyes glazed over with the 
fire of it. My own condition was wildly inflamed. Her body, so fat and 
ugly, was also violently erotic and sensual.

“How can you feel this as I do?” I moaned. “Does it not pain you 
greatly?”

“No,” she panted. “I’ve used my hairbrush many times.”

“My God!” I gasped, and the picture of her fucking a hairbrush was lewd 
and lustful and it burned through my brain like a brand of fire. Leaning 
back heavily against the chair back, I slammed my cock up into that 
slapping ass, wild to screw this child with a lust I had never thought 
myself capable. It was as though my brain and soul and conscience had 
suddenly exploded, and I jumped up out of the chair and bracing my legs to 
support us both, I humped her like a mad dog.

“Uhgh! Ungh! Ungh!” I grunted, and the gurgling, gasping sounds that came
from her were every bit as loathsome.

Then the lust that was in us swelled so rampantly that we could only 
grind fitfully against one another. I felt her stiffen in my arms and she 
threw her head and breasts backward with such force that for a moment I 
feared that we would crash to the floor. “Eyiii!” she wailed and the 
uninhibited plump little creature soared over the crest with a display of 
total abandonment.

Grinding heavily against me, she pulled me over with her and I gasped 
with relief as my crest came and my seed spewed into her.

“God forgive me!” I cried.

. A thirteen-year-old child had taught me the true meaning of lust.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

October 16,1867

Just before the child left me, I finally realized God’s purpose in 
pushing me into this loathsome act.

“Consuelo,” I said happily. “I understand it now! God has shown me the 
reason!”

She stared at me curiously.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What is there to understand?”

“It is your lonely acts God wishes to put a stop to. You may come to me 
whenever the need becomes urgent but you must promise me never to use the 
brush or even your fingers upon yourself again. It is very wrong. Will you 
promise?”

“Certainly, Father,” she laughed. “You are much better than the brush.”

“No! It can never be this way again for I must teach you the ways of the 
Lord. You are lustful and unloving. Your only thought is to quell the fire 
in your own loins.”

“I don’t care how you do it, Father,” she giggled. “Just so it is often.”

“Consuelo!” I scolded. “You must understand. You are talking like some 
slut. You must learn the happiness in bodily communion, you giving to the 
other as much as you receive.”

“You felt it,” she accused.

“Certainly! But you would not have cared one way or the other, so intent 
were you on your own release. This is what happens when you gain pleasure 
from feeling your own joy. You have never considered anyone else’s 
pleasure.”

“Who’d want me?” she asked mournfully.

“Why, Maria thinks you are wonderful,” I told her. “She said you were her
best friend. Have you ever tried to please her?”

“Her?” she laughed. “Why she would have a fit!”

“She is shy and probably very lonely,” I told her.

“Really? Do you really think so?” she asked.

“Yes, Consuelo. You must always love your neighbor and try to understand 
them.”

“Mmm,” she said thoughtfully as she smoothed her hair before the mirror.

“Now run along and remember this. You feel things only with me from now 
on. No one else. Promise?”

She looked at me curiously for a moment and then nodded absentmindedly 
and hurried from my room. I had settled back in my chair to commune with my
God before I remembered the boys and girls out in the arbor. Hurriedly, I 
rushed out into the night and found them busily fucking all over the lawn. 
They seemed to be doing competently, for though I waited till all were 
finished, not one young lady showed signs of being unsatisfied.

When we had all returned and they had changed into their regular 
clothing, I congratulated them on the progress they had all shown.

“Tomorrow night,” I promised. “We shall be ready to commune together.”

They greeted the news with cheers!

* * *

That night, when the Duchess slipped into my chambers, she was quick to 
notice my exhaustion and—yes, lack of ardor. Caring for her voracious needs
had become a burden even the Lord could not help me with for the sight of 
her tired, sagging body did nothing to gird my loins for the demanding 
battles she expected. I tried. God knows I tried, but the time had come 
that I could no longer hide my growing distaste. Her needs were too much 
for any human, and after the incident with Consuelo, I simply could not 
bring my staff to attention.

She accused me of all sorts of vile acts with practically every woman she
could think of except the Queen herself, and when I showed not an inkling 
of guilt at the naming of any of them, she burst into tears and begged my 
forgiveness. She tried to coax an erection with her lips and when this 
failed she beseeched me to consult with a physician.

“If this became a permanent malady, I should die!” she cried, wringing 
her hands frantically.

I was sorry to see her leave in such a frightful state of need, but there
was little I could do though I offered to donate my lips to the cause. She 
refused, too proud to allow it, and she tucked me in like a worried mother 
hen.

“Take care, lamb,” she said. “We shall commune tomorrow night.”

. I closed my eyes wearily, pushing such a miserable contemplation from 
my mind.

Dear Lord, I prayed. Please bring another to care for that poor lamb. She
has used all that I have to give her.

And as if he had suddenly answered my prayer, I thought of the little fat
girl. Poor Consuelo’s needs were as great as the needs of the Duchess. If 
two women were truly gentle, as Marta had told me, then could they not 
bring happiness to each other and allay the terrible loneliness that filled
them both?

The very next morning, I called upon the Duchess before breakfast. Her 
husband was just leaving and we exchanged courtesies.

“What is it?” she asked. “Are you well? Can you love me this morning?”

“Alas, no,” I told her sorrowfully. “But there is a favor I should like 
to ask of you.”

“Oh,” she said with disappointment. “Well, certainly. Anything I can do 
for you. You have but to ask.”

“There is a child. She is quite plump and none of the boys will even 
notice her. She confessed to me that she has been fucking herself with her 
hairbrush. I cannot help her. I thought perhaps you might know of some 
young servant boy that—” Her eyes shone as she raised her hand to stop me.

“Say no more, dear Father. Send her to me this instant. I know of the 
perfect young man for her.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” I told her. “Tell him to be gentle.”

“Oh, I will! Please don’t forget, Father. Send her right away. I am 
fairly bursting with the need to help someone. I have not had any charities
to work for since we came to this wretched place.”

“I shall send her at once,” I promised. “Good day, dear Duchess. You are 
a godly soul.”

I was well aware of the fact that there would be no young man but it 
seemed to me as though God had sent one to care for the other.

During choir practice, I noted that Maria stayed far away from Consuelo 
and though the little fat girl tried desperately to engage her in 
conversation, Maria would have none of it.

She certainly wasted no time getting at her, I thought and as soon as the
practice was over, I drew Consuelo aside and told her that there was a lady
who wanted to help her.

“With what?” she asked, daring me with her eyes.

“There is a young man that she wants you to meet. Remember, Consuelo, be 
a lady. Don’t frighten him off.”

“I don’t want a young man,” she said. “I want you.”

I shook my head sadly. “The Lord has sent you help now and I could never 
give you help if you were to refuse what he has willed for you. I can only 
help those who cannot find help elsewhere. It is the will of God.”

“All right,” she said defiantly and her eyes were shooting sparks of 
fire. “I shall do as you ask, but if I don’t like him, I shall be back.”

“That’s a good child,” I said, patting her head gently though I was more 
in a mood to spank the truculent youngster.

Then I went to my study and found Maria, sobbing as though her heart 
would break. I gathered her into my arms and ran my hands through her hair.

“What is it, child?” I asked. “Tell Father Manuel what is troubling your 
heart.”

“I… I have not a fr… friend left on this ear… earth!” she wailed.

“You have me, Maria,” I told her. “You will always have me.”

“What is the matter with me, Father?” she sobbed. “Why am I not like the 
others?”

“Maria, you are more beautiful than any girl or woman in all of the 
court. You are the fairest of the fair. How can you not be different when 
you are so much more lovely than they?”

Her arms went about me and she burrowed her head against my chest. It 
made me weak in the knees to have her there in my arms. My want for her was
an intolerable pain that cut clear into my gut, yet I dared not follow my 
heart for fear of frightening this delicate flower.

“I don’t mean how I look,” she whimpered. “That doesn’t matter. It is how
I feel that is so different.”

“And how do you feel, Maria,” I asked, shaking as I waited for her 
answer.

“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “All of the rest have—things they—I—it’s just
wrong!” she cried finally. “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!”

“What is wrong?” I urged.

“Touching and petting and putting their hands where they don’t belong.”

“How do you know it’s wrong, dear?” I prodded. “I just feel it,” she 
said. “That’s all. I just feel it, and it’s wrong!”

“Where do you feel it?” I asked.

“In my—I can’t tell you,” she whispered.

“Do you want me to tell you how you feel?” I asked.

“I… I—Do you know?” she asked, surprised.

“It is an ache,” I told her, pressing her head against my chest. “And 
though it is an ache, it is a pleasant one that feels hot and tingling and 
demanding—and with it, the loins weep and the panties become wet with 
desire.”

I could feel her body stiffen with fear and I stopped immediately “It is 
only what every girl and every woman feels, Maria. It is what makes them 
fall in love, and that is God’s will.”

“But it feels so wrong!” she wailed.

“Only because you don’t trust the one who touches you—and that, too, is 
the will of God.” Every nerve and fiber in my body screamed for me to ask 
next if she trusted me, yet, I could not. I dared not push her further. I 
was afraid. I begged God to help me but I could do nothing on my own.

Instead, I led her to a chair and had her sit down. Then we talked about 
her problems and I cursed myself for being faint of heart when the Lord had
handed her up unto me.

Then a messenger appeared in the doorway, and when I opened the note that
he handed me, I saw that I had been summoned to come immediately to attend 
her royal majesty. So again the Lord had saved me, for had I started to 
help this girl and been interrupted, it surely would have frightened her 
away forever.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

My second audience was to be far different from the first for there was 
not another soul in the queen’s chambers when I entered.

“Sit down, please,” she said easily as she pointed to a nearby chair.

I was frightfully nervous to be in such a casual, intimate atmosphere 
with my queen. I sat uneasily before her and felt miserable.

“Please be at ease, Father,” she said, noting my distress, I suppose.

“Sitting before my queen causes me much discomfort,” I admitted.

She laughed and raised her hand carelessly. “Then by all means, stand,” 
she said.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I said, quickly getting to my feet.

“I called for you because I had a most unusual experience this morning, 
of which I thought perhaps you could enlighten me.”

“I shall try,” I told her.

She rose from her chair then and walked to the hearth as she began 
telling me of the incident.

“Having been married only a short time before the death of Prince 
Phillip, I was never with child. My nephew, Gino, is very dear to my heart,
and he has allowed me to mother and fuss over him since birth. We always 
take breakfast together here in my chambers and this morning, when I went 
to greet him, I discovered a most amazing change in his demeanor.”

Alarmed, I glanced quickly to gauge her temper but met only a bland, 
totally noncommittal smile.

“When I put my arms about the lad to smooth back his hair, his hand rose 
to slide across my breast in a most adult manner. Before I could catch my 
breath, he had reached in, scooped out my flesh from my bodice and began to
kiss me with such fervent fire that I was immediately faint with longing. I
must admit that I was rendered totally helpless, my knees turning to jelly 
and my breast heaving with the difficulty of breathing. For a child so 
young to have developed a technique to surpass any man in my court was 
impossible and yet, the evidence was before me and there was no use to deny
it.”

The thought of caressing the breast of my queen made my own breathing 
labored, and I could scarcely find voice to question her.

“Did the boy touch you further?” I asked.

She smiled, her eyes closing a moment in reverie.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Though small in his masculine growth, he was fully
adult in the manner in which he seduced me. Our meal grew cold as he guided
me into my bed and, as I lay there paralyzed with passion, he removed my 
raiment with sure hands and, after shedding his own attire, he performed 
magnificently!”

“And what do you want of me?” I asked huskily.

She shook herself back to reality and smiled at me.

“He tells me that you are teaching the children to give to one another—to
commune in flesh as in spirit,” she whispered.

“I do what the Lord asks of me,” I answered. “It is my mission.”

“And it was your techniques he used upon my flesh?” she asked.

“It is not a technique,” I argued. “It is God’s way. The boys were 
squeezing tits like some peasant farmer milking a cow! They worked the 
girls up until they agreed to slide their joy and then never fulfilled the 
poor lambs. Little Marta was in such a fit that she went about in a misery 
most of the time. Why, would you believe that one poor child was fucking 
herself with her hairbrush? It is no wonder that the Lord called me to this
vile place. The need was desperate.”

“Your queen’s need is desperate also, Don Manuel,” she said, and running 
her hands up her corseted body, she lifted her breasts with a groan that 
told me of her terrible need.

“My queen,” I said humbly. “It is all of this boning and corseting that 
burdens your body. Here, let me ease the strain of these millstones.”

I began loosening the ties that held the front of her gown and she closed
her eyes and sighed.

“God made the body to be free,” I told her. “How can a woman know the 
peace and tranquility of godly love when she is burdened so miserably?”

I removed her bodice and only a light chemise remained to cover her lush 
breasts.

“There,” I said, massaging her flesh and lightly molding her full, 
melon-rounded breasts. “Does that not feel better, My Queen?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

“And these vile waistcinchers,” I complained bitterly. “They are 
contrivances of the devil!”

The waistcincher she wore covered her body from rib cage to thighs and in
order to unfasten it, I was forced to unhook her skirts and crinolines and 
drop them to the floor. She stepped free of them and stood there in 
chemise, cincher and knee-length pantaloons and she was as fair and lithe 
as a girl.

“Already, I have removed twenty years,” I jested, “for you now look no 
more than sixteen.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and her voice was small and child-like as I 
unlaced the burdensome contrivance. She had been forced into it for so many
years that her waist was very small, contrasting to her large breasts and 
widely flaring hips in a most curvaceous manner.

“Even your hair has been forced into a mold which God did not intend,” I 
chided gently, and I forced my hands and eyes away from her body and began 
pulling the bone hairpins from her hair. One by one, her curls fell away 
and when her hair was free, I walked into her bedchamber and took a brush 
from her dresser. She was shivering when I returned. I ignored her obvious 
need, forcing my own needs back at the same time, as I vigorously began 
brushing her hair. It was rich and full-bodied and when I finally had it 
back to its natural way of falling, it reached the small of her back—long 
and full and shining.

“Now, I am no longer frightened of you,” I said with a smile and I lifted
her chin and brushed my lip3 across hers. “You are no longer a queen, but a
woman.”

“And am I a desirable woman?” she asked.

I took her hand and pressed it lightly to my hardened flesh.

“You are irresistible,” I whispered, and lifting her easily into my arms,
I carried her into her bedchamber.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I could not believe my wonderful fortune to be standing there looking 
down at the lush, expectant body of my queen as I slowly unbuttoned my 
habit. She smiled as she watched me, her eyes twinkling brightly.

“I was most impressed by your habit when first you came before me,” she 
said. “The fitted, buttoned garment looked more to me like a coat than a 
habit. Was this specially designed for your mission in life? It seems most 
appropriate, somehow.”

“No, my Queen,” I told her. “It is only the idiosyncrasy of my order. I 
have changed not a whit of its design.”

“I have seen bishops in similar attire,” she tittered. “Though I never 
gave thought to the convenience of it.”

I slipped from the overdiscussed garment and she sighed with delight as I
moved down beside her.

“I see your God gave the equipment needed for your mission,” she said, 
reaching to touch my swollen organ.

“He is as much your God as mine,” I reminded her.

“Ahhh, yes,” she sighed. “The boy said that you taught such things. Do 
you truly believe we are about to experience religious fervor?”

“It is fact, My Queen,” I whispered as I bent to kiss her smiling lips.

Soon, the smile was gone. She lay enthralled by my caresses, lost in my 
touch. Yet she remained a queen, accepting the tribute I paid unto her body
but giving nothing in return. As my hand brushed across her arched mound 
and quivered against her hot cunt-lips she whimpered with soft little 
cooing moans of delight, her body rolling with the fire that surged through
her, but her arms lay loosely fallen; her head and her face were lifted 
high and lonely away from me.

Her tits were extremely sensitive, and when my lips brushed across them 
she shivered so convulsively that they quivered deliciously, beckoning my 
caresses compulsively. As I lowered myself to worship her portals, my hands
stretched up across her to remain engulfed and teased by her amazingly 
silky flesh.

I kissed her belly, pressing my lips deep into her flesh to wallow in the
heavenly feel of her and as I moved down into her forest, her hands came 
alive, reaching to press my head into her seething flesh.

“Ohhh!” she moaned, twisting up against me but though her hands pressed 
down upon my head, I would not be rushed and I lathered her forest with my 
saliva, pulling the curly strands with my lips until her fur glistened in a
matted mass of my droolings. Only then did I move down to lather her 
burning lips, lapping at their puffy fullness as I slowly worked my way 
down one side of her slit and up the other.

She had spread her legs for me long before I reached her loins and now 
they strained with the effort as she drew her legs to her rump and dug in 
her heels. Wider and wider she flattened herself, lifting her loins high 
off the bed but I would not be rushed into that weeping inferno. She would 
not give. Therefore, she must learn to accept what was given.

“Please!” she whimpered and the insanity of a queen begging caused me to 
lift away from her and stare up at the distraughtly beautiful face.

“You are driving me wild,” she moaned.

“Since you are used to being waited upon, you must learn to wait,” I told
her firmly.

“You are punishing me for not giving?” she demanded.

“I am, Your Majesty,” I said with a grin. “Do you enjoy the punishment?”

“Oh God, you are cruel!” she cried and then, with an agility that was 
amazing, she twisted about on the bed and grabbing my cock in her hands, 
she threw her mouth down upon it.

“Nooo!” I wailed. “Stop, woman! My God!” But her lips ground against me 
and her tongue flurried my throbbing flesh until I was prostrate with the 
passion her hands and lips generated. She worked the loose flesh around and
around as her lips siphoned off my strength.

“Please!” I cried. “Dear God, you will render me useless!”

Slowly, she released me and twisted about to lie with me.

“And so now I have punished you in return and I have proven that I can 
give,” she said triumphantly.

“That is not what I meant,” I croaked. “It is your arms that do not hug 
your loved one to your breast, the lips that do not try to touch tenderly. 
It is the spirit, woman! The spirit! My God, how can I show you?”

“Try fucking me,” she suggested impishly. “I am eager to learn.”

“Do you command it?” I asked bitterly.

“No,” she answered. “I could fuck you just as happily.”

I shook my head hopelessly.

“Such a beautiful woman—so filled with ardor—yet, so misguided. It will 
take months to teach you the real meaning of communion—the spirit of giving
of the flesh.”

She shivered.

“Yess,” she hissed. “I am sure it will take a long, long time.”

“I can only try,” I told her humbly, and then the spirit moved her and 
her arms slid up about my neck and she kissed me tenderly.

“That’s it,” I whispered. “You are learning already. Oh, I am glad. 
Glad!”

I rewarded her by rising over her and sliding my cock into her eager, 
churning cunt.

“Ohhh!” she wailed. “Oh God! It’s so good!”

“Yesss,” I moaned. “It is God that has given.”

As my staff of happiness moved slowly in and out of her joyous tunnel of 
fire, I was filled with happiness of fulfillment, for I knew truly that 
this was my utmost mission, to teach my queen of the fiery hand of God. I 
would find other duties to perform for my Lord but this was the main 
mission I had been sent for. The children were the future. The queen was 
now and the now influenced the future. I, a lowly country priest, was to 
have a hand in molding what was to come. It was the will of God.

With sublime joy, I fucked into her, and she gave of herself and cried 
for more.

“Ohhh!” I cried. “Ohhh, My Queen!”

“Father!” she gasped, gripping my neck with the grasp of a falcon as she 
worked her body against me.

“It is blessed,” I whispered. “It is divine!”

And it truly was divine, for the fire swept through our bodies and I 
could scarcely breathe and my heart pounded with ardor as I worked against 
her. The beat of my heart echoed in the throbbing pulse of my cock and 
every spasm was a crest of fire that flooded out through my body to the 
very core of my being.

The power of God’s love never failed to fill me with awe each time I 
reached this divine state of ardor and I shuddered with the violence of His
love. My slow pistoning rhythm degenerated into short, flurried strokes and
then I could but grind and shiver against her as my need became a 
compulsion.

“Ohhh!” I cried, gripping her tightly to my body.

“Ahhh!” her cry joined me in spirit as she strained mightily up against 
me.

Her ass was raised high above the bed, her heels digging in an agony of 
tension. Her tits were smashed against my chest, rolling from side to side 
as she twisted about. Her mouth burrowed into my neck, sucking, nibbling, 
biting in a frenzy of excitement.

“Now!” she cried. “Now!”

With bruising fire, we ground our bodies into the crest of our lust, and 
I felt the burst of throbbing flames coursing through me as my body 
exploded, my seed spewing into her royal cunt with long, satisfying spurts.

“Eyiii!” she screamed as she felt the hot, milky come fill her depths. It
triggered the exploding fury of her fire and carried her over into a 
throbbing, moaning orgasm.

“Ahhh!” she sighed, falling back against the linen and lace of her royal 
bed. “You are the best! The best ever.”

“Of course,” I answered weakly. “It is God’s will. He could do nothing 
less.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

That afternoon, the Duchess came to see me. It was during siesta time and
although I was dozing, the sound of her familiar heavy footsteps brought me
awake in an instant. I literally jumped to my feet and reached the doorway 
to my cubicle before she could push through.

“May I come in?” she asked with a twinkle, but she was already in my 
study and I was not about to be trapped in the cubicle, so I told her that 
I was about to pour a glass of wine and she let me pass.

“Have you found a young man for Consuelo?” I asked in as casual a tone as
I could manage.

“Oh, such a dear child,” she cooed. “I thought it better to work on her 
diet and manners before attempting any introductions. She was quite 
agreeable to being molded into a more pleasing package.”

“Ahh, but it concerns me that her needs should carry her back into her 
sordid ways.”

“I have taken care to prevent that, also, Father,” she said.

I lifted the stopper from the decanter and poured two small glasses of 
sherry.

“I hardly think just talking to the child will help much. I hope you have
found a more satisfactory measure.”

“She seemed to think it was,” she said, eyeing me closely. “The gentle 
hand of a woman will keep her need quelled until she is more presentable.”

“Oh!” I said, feigning a pleased surprise. “That was kind of you, 
Duchess. You are the most charitable woman I have ever known.”

Stepping up close, she fingered a button of my habit as she said, “I love
to please you, Father. It is your training and counsel that have guided me 
to this state of happiness. This very moment, my heart cries out to give 
unto you.”

“Thank you, my dear,” I said thinking as fast as my mind would work. “I 
am leading the children in chorus in but a moment.”

“Send them away,” she hissed. “It is time for our communion.”

She began unfastening the buttons of my habit and I jumped away, 
frightened by the wild look in her eye.

“I can’t send the children away,” I argued. “The Son of God, himself, 
said, suffer the children to come unto me and forbid them not for—”

“For God’s sake, don’t give me that!” she snorted. “I’ve got a little 
itch here that needs taking care of. By God, Father, you’re going to take 
care of it! You have put me off long enough. You fuck me, or I’ll make you 
sorry you even met me!”

Her voice was a screech as she finished, her eyes wild with hatred as she
pulled her skirts up in the front and began pushing down her pantaloons.

. “You can just lick my candy, if you’re too damn good to fuck!” she 
cried.

“Duchess! My dear Duchess!” I cried. “You are distraught. Please! Sit 
down and let me pour you another glass of wine.”

“I don’t need wine! I need fu—”

“Please!” I cried, and I was becoming distraught over what to do with 
her.

“Who is she, Father?” she demanded. “Who is this woman who is taking so 
much from you that you no longer have time for me?”

“Duchess,” I sighed, sinking hopelessly into a chair, “I cannot help you.
As God is my witness, I would if I could!”

She stared at me incredulously, and then her eyes bulged and her mouth 
fell open as the words sunk into her brain.

“It’s the queen. Great God in heaven!”

“No, Duchess,” I gasped, horrified at what she had twisted my sentence to
mean.

“Don’t lie to me, Father,” she said coldly. “You’re not good at it. Oh, I
shall not trouble you again. Now that you are the queen’s pet, I wouldn’t 
dare!”

With that, she drew up her skirts and walked from the room. I could 
almost smell her anger!

The rest of the afternoon went swiftly and soon it was time for the 
evening Mass. The children came in small groups and pairs and they were all
assembled and fittingly reverent. They squirmed, especially the younger 
ones, as children will, but on the whole they were very good and I was 
proud of their faultless behavior.

I spoke to them that night about the excesses in all things. My horror at
the behavior of the Duchess prompted me to warn them diligently as I could,
and I spoke with fervor of the flesh and of drink even such less-obvious 
excesses as gambling and vengeance.

“All are gravely dangerous and perhaps the worst is excessive hatred. 
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord and leave it to him. Avoid excessive 
feeling of any kind other than love and the spirit of giving.”

When the Mass was over, the younger children scampered off to their 
nurses along with Consuelo and Maria and the older children hurried to 
change into their choir robes. Only Gino remained.

“What is it, lad?” I asked.

“Is something troubling you, Father?” he asked. “You seemed lost somehow 
this night, as though you were trying to warn of things that were—I don’t 
know—imminent, I guess.”

“What made you think that?” I asked, wondering what in heaven’s name I 
had said to worry the boy.

“It sounded,” he answered hesitantly, “as though danger were near. As 
though someone was trying to cause trouble.”

“Ohhh!” I exclaimed, surprised at his discernment.

“Is there someone like that, Father?” he asked insistently.

“Perhaps,” I answered thoughtfully. “I had really not considered the 
possibility of harm until you mentioned it. I wonder if the Lord is trying 
to warn me?”

“Who is it, Father?” he persisted. “Perhaps I can help.”

“No,” I said firmly. “What will be will be.”

“That is foolishness!” he snorted. “Would the Lord bother to warn you if 
he did not intend for you to take action? And he warned you through me!”

I looked at the lad and his maturity amazed me. He was absolutely right, 
of course, and having the ear of the queen even more than I, he was the 
logical one to help if help was possible.

“The Duchess of Almansa is furious at my refusal to make love to her,” I 
said simply. “Now get yourself dressed for practice, son. I shall pray 
about the matter after we have finished our communion.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Father,” the boy laughed. “There is no point in 
bothering the Lord with a problem which can be easily be solved by man. See
you in a moment.”

Gaily, he pranced up the stairs and he seemed not to have a care in the 
world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

October 17, 1867

“It is not enough to love one’s neighbor and ignore the other,” I told 
the children the following night. “We must learn to love all of our fellow 
men, each for his own special talent. Let us pray.”

When we had finished our prayer, I asked the five girls to come and stand
beside me. In a moment, I was surrounded.

“All right, boys,” I said. “We will explore the beauty of each of these 
lovely creatures. Marta, would you be first?”

“Certainly,” she said with a shiver of delight, and I had her stand in 
front of me.

“Can’t we watch until it is our turn?” another girl asked, and I thought 
the idea most appropriate. Quickly, they moved to sit among the boys.

“Now,” I said as I untied the cord at Marta’s waist, “let us remember 
that each of God’s creatures is unique, like no other on earth.”

I unwound the cord and her gown fell loosely about her.

“Raise your arms, Marta,” I said. “Yes, that’s a good child.” And I 
slowly raised the loose folds of her gown, unveiling her body much as a 
master would unveil his art.

“There,” I said triumphantly. “Isn’t God’s handiwork magnificent in this 
blossoming girl? Note the breasts. See how pliant and soft they are to the 
touch? These rosebud nipples feel as silky as the petals of a rose. Now, 
note the highly arched mound. Why, it is as perky in its tilt as her cute 
little pug nose.”

The children laughed gently at the comparison.

“Sadly, these velvet cunt-lips will one day be hidden behind a forest of 
hair, but though they are naked as a babe’s pudenda, they feel and throb, 
and perform fully as well as any woman.”

“Here! Here!” cried Gino, clapping his hands.

“Now turn around, my dear. Isn’t that a sweet little ass, lads?” I asked,
squeezing them vigorously. “Is she not molded in a delightful form?”

“Yesss,” the crowd sighed in unison.

“Thank you, Marta,” I whispered and my hand pressed gently against her 
quivering flesh. “You are most desirable.”

“Then why can’t I please you, Father,” she whispered huskily.

“You please me always,” I said and greeted the girl who had moved forward
to take her place.

“What is your name, child?” I asked.

“Leander,” she said with a shiver, and then she turned to face the 
others.

She was a much less voluptuous child than Marta, being tall and willowy 
in frame. I unknotted her cord, unwound it and pulled the gown away from 
her body. One thoughtless fellow groaned.

“Now we see another kind of body in God’s design. Graceful, queenly in 
stature, notice the sweet cupcake breasts that will make her a child in any
man’s arms for as long as she lives. Never will she know drooping or aging 
in her body. To touch these breasts is constant excitement, for she is 
youth eternal!”

“You are just saying that to make her feel good, Father,” a boy laughed.

Leander’s face was scarlet and I could not allow her to be embarrassed by
their coarseness and thoughtlessness.

“Do you think so?” I asked, and as I caressed her breast with one hand, I
reached down, unfastened my frock and pulled out my hardened staff. “She 
may not excite a child,” I chided the boy, “but she most certainly can 
excite a man.”

The gasps and groans that rose from the children’s lips as they caught 
sight of my full-blown cock was deafening and the girl who stood beside me 
reached down compulsively and let her fingers trail down its length.

“Ohhh!” I groaned, allowing her the glory of having been the only child 
to touch or stimulate my staff.

“Me! Me!” cried Marta, but when she tried to pull herself from the boy’s 
arms, I quickly pulled my habit forward, and refastened the opening, thus 
denying her the favor she had sought for so very long. With a moan, she 
fell back against the boy and his hands slipped between her legs to comfort
her.

“All right, please note how different Leander’s love box is from Marta’s.
Hers is more remote, more unavailable, and a man will always have to work 
diligently for her favors. Now, turn around, child,” I told her and as I 
reached to squeeze her ass, she pressed up against me and felt the hardness
of my cock pressing directly into her burning lips.

“Ahhh!” she moaned, rubbing hard against me.

“Note that sweet, small ass,” I groaned. “God, what such a body can do to
a man! That most certainly is enough, my dear. You are working me into a 
terrible sweat.”

“Please,” she moaned, but I turned her firmly away and the boy’s arms 
reached eagerly for her as she went to join the pack sprawled out on the 
floor.

“Who’s next?” I asked. A large girl got to her feet and came to me. She 
was as tall as Leander, but as curvy a creature as Marta. Only her shyness 
had kept her from being the most sought-after girl among them.

As I lifted her gown, a roar of approval came from the boys and Marta’s 
lower lip hung petulantly. As I reached around to display her tit, I found 
it far more than a single handful and so muscularly developed that they 
pointed straight forward.

“Ahhhh!” I laughed at the sweating boys. “This is something that demands 
much immediate attention.”

Their laughter rose shakily.

“Yes,” I went on. “One day this girl will marry and take a child to her 
breast and all this sensual flesh will be turned to the nurture of her 
children. But for now, she is a circus of delights.” I squeezed both of her
bulging tits and the huge puffy nipples bulged.

“Oh God, get it over with,” Gino moaned. “Bert has kept his fucking mouth
shut about all that. I gotta get a handful.”

More laughter. I was proving the lesson I had set out to teach.

“I don’t need to point out the tiny waist or the wide flair here of her 
thighs. She was made to ride—made to love. You are a Venus, my child.”

Her eyes shone as she turned to thank me and then dissolved into the 
crowd.

“I’m next, I guess,” a small voice said and I turned and found the petite
Delores standing before me.

“Ah yes,” I sighed. “I believe, boys, even before I unveil this girl’s 
body, that you will find her incomparably exquisite.”

As I unhooked her sash, I went on. “Note the graceful arms and hands, the
delightfully tiny feet. This is truly one of God’s loveliest flowers.”

As I pulled the gown away, the boys and girls sighed with delight for the
child was all I expected of her and more.

“Ayeee!” I sighed. “Such sweet cupcake breasts, quivering so jauntily and
the soft, flat little belly and—ah, we have a fur upon this sweet little 
cunt. She is maturing rapidly, this one. The nipped-in waist, the fleshy 
thighs—the full-blown ass. She is ripe, this one—a fully bloomed flower—a 
passion flower!”

There was only one child left. I had given each girl confidence and 
glowing happiness with my gently, caressing descriptions but as the fifth 
came up, her plain little sad face made me pray for the Lord’s help for I 
knew that making her look desirable was to take a real miracle.

“And what is your name, child?” I asked.

“Marguerita,” she said, and she looked as though she was ready to cry.

“What troubles you, child?” I asked quietly so that the others could not 
hear.

“I am not developed as yet,” she whimpered. “They will laugh, for I am 
ugly.”

“Oh, my lamb,” I said, gathering her into my arms before the startled 
children. “No child of God is ever ugly.”

Before I released her, I looked over her shoulder at the wide-eyed boys 
and girls and said, “This child has one charm that, to me, is totally 
irresistible. She has humility. She believes, because her body has not yet 
blossomed, that she will be ugly in the sight of God. Oh, little lamb, how 
warm and fragrant and lovely you are.”

The girls groaned as they wished themselves into her place and the 
hungrier their looks, the more tenderly I held the child to me. When, at 
last, I released her, I turned her slowly to face them and to their hunger 
glazed eyes, she was transformed into someone beautiful. I slowly undraped 
her, slid my hands sensually across her shapeless little body and slid my 
finger up the length of her slit, allowing her scarlet flesh to open.

“Ahhhhhh!” cried the girl, arching her groin out wildly.

“Good God!” moaned the boy closest to her.

“Lovely! Lovely!” I sighed, and then slowly released her to go down to 
the boy whose arms reached eagerly up for her.

I had accomplished the impossible with the help of my Lord, and though my
body ached to fall among the youthful flesh, I resisted the need and stood 
firm.

“Will the boys now come forward?” I invited. “I think you might come up 
and strip to the flesh all at once. Then we will see how God has formed 
these fine young men.”

“You too, Father!” Marta cried. “Let us learn of men at the same time.”

The boys were busily skinning off their tunics and the loincloths were 
ripped away. They stood proudly preening before the girls, their pricks 
fully cocked.

“Come on!” cried the girls.

Sadly, I shook my head.

“You cry with lust in your voice and this is not a lesson in lust but in 
loving. You have, this night, seen what God has given you. Nothing further 
can be accomplished by flaunting God’s gift simply to titillate you.”

“Ohhh,” they moaned in disappointment, and I walked along the line of 
boys and I was proud of their fine stature and manly stance.

“You are all well-formed, my lads, though the chilled air and 
embarrassment have lowered your staffs somewhat. Each of you reach down and
slide your neighbor’s joy a moment that we can see how well you blossom.”

A gasp escaped their lips and for a moment, they hesitated, but one by 
one, they began working each other’s prick.

“And while we are about it, I want each of you girls to caress your 
neighbor’s breast. Not just one. Touch and explore each other fully, for we
are all neighbors of the flesh.”

The girls were not as hesitant as the boys. They lunged at each other 
hungrily. The sight of their lips sucking upon each other’s breasts, their 
tits rubbing wildly against their neighbor’s flesh, even the fingers 
slipping down to explore and manipulate the meat of their slits brought a 
wild cry from the boys, and before I could stop them, they were diving into
the seat of feminine flesh, grabbing—sucking—humping their cocks into any 
hole that presented itself. It was an insane orgy, and though the sight 
blurred my brain and caused my staff to throb in its torment and suffering,
I cried out for them to stop—to quit this folly—to explore lovingly and 
gently, the sweet flesh of the Lord.

“The body is the temple of the Lord!” I cried. “Treat it with reverence!”

My cries went unheeded, for lust was upon them, and the devil’s hand 
moved over them. Come spurted into the air, and bodies stiffened in wild 
orgasms and their screams and wails of excitement made me cover my face in 
an agony of shame.

When, at last, the voices were stilled, I looked down at the havoc of 
spent bodies and I grieved for them.

“Cover yourselves,” I ordered. “Dress and come into the chapel. We must 
pray and confess before the Lord’s wrath smites you down for this folly. 
Because of your lust, we shall not hold practice for two weeks and if I 
hear of one of you lusting yourself during that time, we shall meet no 
more.”

With anger burning deep in my soul, I turned and went down to the pulpit 
to wait for my sinful flock.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

October 31, 1867

For the next two weeks, I saw the older children only at chapel and 
though they pleaded piteously, I would not relent, for I wanted them never 
to repeat the sin which they had committed.

I worked with the younger children each day and talked with my darling 
Maria, but I could not bring myself to touch her, so afraid was I of 
frightening her away. My afternoons were fully taken up in communion with 
my queen. She was coming along beautifully in her appreciation of what I 
had to teach her, and I could see her heart opening into a beautiful, 
giving flower.

She never mentioned the Duchess to me, but before the week was out, the 
Duke and Duchess of Almansa returned to their home, taking a plump little 
girl named Consuelo along as their ward. I had not known that the child was
an orphan, her mother having died in childbirth and her father in the war. 
Being the child of a nobleman, she was never sent away from the court, but 
all were glad when the Duchess offered to take over the responsibilities 
for the unlovable girl.

* * *

Before I could resume the guidance of the older children, I was struck 
down with a fever that kept me abed for six long, exhausting weeks, before 
I was again able to lift myself from my cot. The fever dissipated itself 
within a week but the debilitating affect upon my body left me helpless for
some time. Then, the solicitous nursing of my doctors and nurses, the 
empathy of my queen and students forced me to lie there until my strength 
had fully returned. Though it pains me to admit it, their very empathy kept
my body from recovering sooner, for between the nurses and Marta and my 
queen, my poor cock was flurried and sucked almost continually in an effort
to keep me appeased and quiet. Alas, all their efforts combined to sap my 
strength greatly and before it was over, the only people I was truly happy 
to see were the doctor, Gino, and my lovely Maria who made no effort 
whatever to touch my wilted peter.

When finally, I was well, it was the queen who commanded my first 
attention. Though she took care not to tire me too greatly, my weak smile 
led her to ask me to linger for tea and I gratefully accepted. After a few 
moments of idle gossip, she brought up the subject of the children.

“How were they doing before you were stricken, Father?” she asked.

“I was punishing them,” I was forced to admit. “They lusted themselves 
shamefully when last we met. They had been without a lesson for two full 
weeks before I was taken ill. I have promised them we will commune this 
evening.”

“Perhaps what they need is a demonstration,” she suggested. “Could I not 
attend tonight and you and I perform for them?”

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “I have never performed with any of 
them or for them for that master. They have an unhealthy desire to see me 
in such a performance for some reason.”

“They probably only want you for themselves,” she laughed. “Little girls 
are notoriously possessive.”

“I have been asked,” I admitted.

“Then let them see their queen and their priest in earthy communion and 
they shall know that you are not meant for their pleasure.”

“Very well,” I agreed. “It might be good for them.”

“Bring them to my chamber,” she suggested. “I hardly am up to being 
fucked on the floor of the chapel choir loft.”

I laughed in spite of myself for it was such a ridiculous notion.

“I shall bring them,” I promised.

* * *

That night, after Mass, I told the children to dress in their choir gowns
and come back down to the chapel. They were subdued and exceedingly 
reverent, it being their first meeting in two months. They filed down the 
curved, narrow stairway with model discipline and I felt a lump in my 
throat at their sweet, gentle innocence. As they lined up before me I 
smiled with love and compassion as I looked into their eager, shining 
faces.

“I have a wonderful surprise for you tonight,” I told them. “Her royal 
majesty has asked me to bring you all to her chambers that she might help 
me with the task of training you.”

A gasp rose from their lips as their eyes bulged with disbelief.

“She has been told of your fall from grace and, being the generous soul 
that she is, she suggested to me that it was only because you had not 
witnessed giving love that you could not refrain from excesses. She has, 
therefore, asked that I perform with her for your education and 
enlightenment.”

Their mouths were gaping as I led them through the long maze of hallways 
leading to the royal chambers. When I tapped lightly upon the door, a 
lady-in-waiting opened it and led us info the bedchambers where the queen 
awaited us.

“Good evening, children,” she said softly.

They bowed en masse.

“I like their attire,” she told me. “The robes allow their bodies so much
more freedom.”

Then she turned to the awed, frightened children and bade them to gather 
about the bed.

“Father Manuel has taught me to understand the beauty of his God. Our 
communion has become my strength and my solace.”

Then she turned to her beloved nephew. “It was through Gino that I first 
was touched by Father Manuel’s great compassion, for the lad touched me 
with such tenderness that I found his love an unbelievably uplifting 
experience. If you all have learned as well as my nephew, you already 
outclass any man in court, including your own fathers. We have .a master 
for a teacher, children, and we should all thank God for his bountiful 
blessing upon us.”

The boys and girls, alike, were staring at Gino in total awe and he was 
fairly bursting with importance.

“Now, children,” I called to them. “If you will all watch closely, we 
shall demonstrate one of the proper ways in which you may worship God with 
earthly communion.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The queen lowered her wrapper, exposing her lush, mature breasts. Sitting
at the edge of the bed, she smiled at the children as she lifted her joy 
gems for their approval.

“How many of you have touched the mature breasts of a woman?” she asked. 
“The feel is quite different from that of a young girl even of the same 
size, though not at all unpleasant, I am told.”

When the children quickly denied having any such experience, she allowed 
them to come forward, one at a time and pay homage to the bosom of their 
queen. Girls and boys alike lined up, and, one by one, they caressed and 
kissed her spongy flesh. I could see by the glazed condition of her eyes 
that it pleased her. When they had finished, I spoke for her, for she was 
faint with passion and scarcely able to speak.

“The joy box of a woman is likewise different from that of a young girl,”
I said and parting her gown I exposed her furred triangle and loosely 
opened slit. “Lie back, my dear, and let them each worship at your royal 
portholes.”

With a groan, she fell back against the stack of lace-edged pillows and 
let her legs fall loosely open. One of the queen’s unusual traits was a 
quick first orgasm, followed almost immediately by a tremendous burst of 
desire. I decided that it would give the children a great thrill to bring 
their queen worshipfully up to orgasm, giving them confidence in their 
worth as well as a real feeling of giving.

One by one they came to her, bending their heads eagerly, though a few 
boys could not resist rubbing their heated pricks into her meat for a few 
sensuous moments. She groaned and sighed and enjoyed their caresses 
immensely and I found the girls every bit as adept at flurrying her as the 
boys. After each had been allowed a few, heavenly moments, they were pushed
on to suck and nibble again at her breasts and their fever at then being 
pushed away was intense. Many a child was pressing a knotted fist into 
their loins as they moved back to await another chance at it.

It was Gino who brought her to fulfillment, stabbing and sucking with 
such wild intensity that she lifted her loins high and then cried out her 
throbbing crest.

“Ahhh!” she moaned as she fell back against the mattress.

She lay there for a moment, but just as the children became restless and 
began to stir about, she shook her head and sat up quickly.

“My!” she said brightly. “You have learned well! How refreshing!”

The boys and girls gaped in amazement.

“Now,” she continued. “It is time also for you to see a man. Father, 
would you be so kind as to remove your habit?”

“Ohhh!” the girls began to squeal and I shook my head with wonder as I 
began unbuttoning my frock.

I was careful to keep my body covered until the last button, and then I 
slipped quickly out of my habit and lay down upon the bed.

“Worship him!” the queen hissed. “He is a God of a man, and you may never
see the likes of his wonderful staff again.”

The boys stood back frowning as the girls rushed toward me. As I 
expected, it was Marta who won the race. She sucked my prick into her mouth
with such slurping lust that I was ashamed of the child’s blatant ardor, 
but her mouth was so wildly hot and wet and churning that I was rendered 
helpless almost immediately. As I stared down in horror, I saw the child 
jump to the bed, straighten her body, and then, slowly, her mouth worked 
its way down until it reached the base of my staff. I could feel the 
constriction of her throat, kneading and squeezing against me and how she 
was able to breathe or keep from gagging I shall never know. The queen 
lurched forward, touching the child’s neck in wonder and when the other 
girls finally pulled her away, I was near to crazed with the violence she 
had created within me.

“I have given,” she whispered into my ear as the next girl pressed her 
lips to my raging flesh. “I have practiced long and hard, and there is no 
one who can give you what I have given. Come to me, Father,” she pleaded. 
“I am yours.”

I shook my head, wanting her only to go away and let me concentrate on 
the delicious touch of the child who now worshiped my flesh. Her lips 
nibbled up and down the length of me, pressing kisses and trailing her 
tongue hotly about my quivering flesh.

“Ahhh!” I moaned. “You are teasing my flesh beautifully, child.”

She nibbled at the spasming pulse and lathed on up to stab out a light 
staccato in the eye of my head. Then she nibbled around and around the 
silky tip until I was weak and shivering with the sensations that coursed 
through me.

“My turn!” cried the girl behind her, tugging and pulling to prod her 
away and I groaned with an ache of disappointment when her lips left my 
oversensitized flesh.

But the next lips, with the newness of a fresh caress, carried me higher 
in my ecstasy, and as the child kneaded and rubbed my pendulous bag against
her tits, her lips churned down and she began sucking with long, 
debilitating draws that felt like she was siphoning my strength from the 
far corners of my frame.

“Aaghhh!” I grunted and I began lifting—lifting into that seething 
cauldron of fire.

“It’s beautiful!” the queen cried. “Young sweet lips upon their master’s 
flesh. Hot young tongues sipping from his flesh. Boys! Kiss me again. Let 
me feel your tongues fucking into my cunt. Oh God, it is so beautiful!”

I looked over and watched the boys milling about her, their lips and 
tongues sucking on every part of her body and then the girl working my 
prick pulled away and another quickly took her place.

“I’m too hot,” moaned Marta and climbing up to straddle my chest, the 
poor child began to rub her meat against my tit.

With a groan, I gathered her ass in and pulled her splayed slit to my 
hungry lips. Then I ate of her meat voraciously.

“Eyiii!” the cries of lust began to fill the room and I felt a girl 
rubbing out her slimy crest against my knee.

Somewhere in the fog of my brain, I heard a scream that was not of lust 
but my own inflamed brain Would not accept or register it. Not until rough 
hands began to pull the bodies of the children away from us did I look up 
and see the hateful faces of the people. More than the others, I remember 
the bishop and the Duchess. Of the rest, I remember little.

I do know that my fever was too great to be stilled and before anyone 
could stop us, I rolled over and fucked my queen until we were both 
satisfied. Only then did we face our accusers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

January 2, 1868

I was thrown into the dungeon, and though my queen was also confined, I 
was not allowed to see her. We are to face trial within a fortnight. I only
hope that if I am to die, they will allow me to be crucified as was my 
Lord, for I know that I am as innocent of wrong as he was.

I am distraught with my grief. I cannot eat or sleep, and this mighty 
staff that the Lord gave me is in misery to get on with his work.

* * *

January 6, 1868 My dreams have become filled with love and sensuous 
communion. The guards watch me around the clock, and they are amazed at my 
continual emission, knowing full well that I have never polluted myself 
with hand or pressure of any kind.

They laugh and call my emissions wet dreams. They cannot understand the 
will of God and the many tasks he has still to set for me.

* * *

January 8, 1868 This is the happiest day of my life, for while the guards
were away at their noonday meal, little Maria slipped to my cell with a 
bouquet of flowers. I told her of my great love and fear of her. I told her
how I had wanted to train her as I had trained the others, but that I was 
always weak, fearing to frighten her away.

She got to her knees and tearfully confessed how greatly she had wanted 
my caress, having known about the classes for some time. I was so deeply 
grieved to have disappointed this wonderful child that I took my staff from
my habit and blessed her with it. With a whimper she pressed it to her 
lips, her tears streaming down to add their caress to my quivering flesh. 
She knew not how to suck upon it, but simply pressed her lips over and over
against my flesh as I clung weakly to the bars.

“I have wanted you for myself,” I moaned. “With you, I could have shown 
the others how to love. I never let them have me, Maria. I saved myself 
always for you!”

“Oh, Father! Father!” she wailed and her kisses became so fervent as she 
clung to my throbbing cock I thought surely I should die in a blaze of 
God’s glory.

“Suck my seed, Maria,” I cried. “Suck my seed into your belly and be with
me always!”

Her hot little lips burned against my flesh. And then, with a whimper of 
need, she sucked me in.

“Ahhh!” I moaned. “Maria! Maria!”

The flames shot through my body. I was consumed by them and my passion 
lifted me out of that prison and into God’s glorious light. I was whole 
again. Whole in body and in spirit, and I pressed my flesh into her 
siphoning fury, I felt a sudden burst of strength so great that had I 
tried, I am sure I could have ripped those bars from the cage.

With a shudder of passion surging through me, I felt my balls belching up
their heavenly load and my tubes swelled as the thick cream burst through 
to spurt into her sweet, innocent lips.

“Take me!” I cried. “Take all of me! Maria!”

She swallowed in, and then dropped to the ground in a torrent of tears as
I fell helpless against the bars of my cage.

The guards came and they took her away and then they returned to beat my 
body with whips of stout leather, but they could not take away what that 
child had given me. Nothing could undo our beautiful communion.

* * *

January 12, 1868 I have been condemned, but I am not to die, for the 
queen has pleaded for my life. She is to be sent into exile on the island 
of Minorca. I have been defrocked and denounced by my church, but I know 
that the Lord is with me. We are to depart within the week. I asked if they
would allow Maria to accompany us, but I was refused. They informed me that
the child entered the Convent of the Holy Virgin just yesterday. I am 
distraught over the loss of her. I had so much to teach the child.

Somewhere in the world there are those who need me. Though it is the 
queen that has been the instrument that saved my life, I know now that she 
is not the task I was sent for. It is to the children that I must turn, for
they are the most in need. I never had time to teach the younger ones of 
the court. Perhaps I shall find such a group elsewhere. I dedicate my life 
to that end.


THE END
