A gorgeous actress who covers her raven hair with a fancy scarf on a Sunday becomes more than glamorous; she becomes an icon and a white-gloved witch.
When Elizabeth tells me, “Today is our spring and I don’t want to share it with anyone else but you… This is our own April!” I perceive a diffuse sense of desperation in her voice. Maybe her beautiful body is deceiving her into thinking she’s still a teen girl and she desperately wants to believe it.
This must be why she picked such a young lover as me to fuck in a motel room. Another car zooms past the building, on its way toward Montreal on Route 2.
She looks at me tenderly, her pajamas still open and showing me the full frontal view of her girly boobs. They offer a lovely merry-go-round to my eyes as she gently moves about.
“Come here, lover boy…” she softly whispers. We kiss. Again, and again. We try to stop time with our kissing so we would both stay young forever, but it’s no good. The clocks are ticking, all clocks on Earth are. Cars are passing by on the nearby road.
“I’m hungry,” she says.
“Yeah, me too.”
We quickly get washed and dressed. This is the first time I see a naked woman putting on her stockings.
She then puts on a lovely dress, forest green with a galaxy of tiny polka dots. The long sleeves will allow her to remove her greatcoat during the mass without being cold. She smiles at me as she puts on a narrow belt of brown leather that highlights her slim waist and emphasizes her timeless hourglass figure.
She spins round lithely and smiles at me… “What do I look like now, lover?” she playfully asks, giggling like a girl of my age if not even younger.
I answer by kissing her and tenderly caressing her breasts through her dress, taking advantage of the fact that she has yet to put her lipstick on. She giggles in my kiss, playfully runs her hand through my hair, and breaks free… “I’m hungry, handsome! And we need to drive on today…”
This reminds me of my worried mother and the possibility that the police might already be after us. I feel bad for doing this to my folks, but this woman… I can’t picture myself without her!
I quickly put on my white shirt from yesterday and find my tweed trousers. If our little adventure is to last several days, I’ll need at least another change of clothes and we’ll certainly need a laundromat. She gives me her candy-store look and smiles as she watches me putting on my necktie—chocolate brown with three pearl-beige diamond shapes—with my usual half-Windsor knot. I smile back at her as I put on my light-brown jacket, ready for that sunny spring day.
Since no restaurant would be open on Easter, we eat a makeshift breakfast made out of corned beef, cheddar cheese, and sliced bread with some fruit. She even has a small electric coffee pot in her luggage. We don’t have milk, but it’s good to have steaming black coffee.
Elizabeth then puts on her dark rouge and adds the finishing touch to her outfit. She throws a scarf over her head—a wonderfully fancy piece of light cashmere, cream white adorned with warm patterns of browns, yellows, and sapphire blue; its bright paleness enhances the blackness of her hair as she makes a simple knot of it under her chin while smiling at me.
She now looks like a madonna—a head-covered icon, her face looking pure and pristine with her contrasting rouge, and the neat shadow of her hair that gives her the part of a Sunday witch.
As we pack up and get ready to hit the road again, I’m getting worried.
“I think we should forget about the mass and keep driving on all the way to Montreal. I’m afraid that the police will be looking for us now,” I say as she puts on her day gloves and sits behind the wheel of her rental Chevy.
“I’m sorry, lover, but hearing the mass on Easter Day is not something I can skip. Besides, when I checked out, I asked about a nearby church and the old landlady at the counter told me about a lovely country church about eight miles after Sainte-Anne-de-la-Pérade. It will be there or nowhere!”
“But it’s only fifteen miles from here! It’s only nine thirty A.M… We ought to drive on! The police…”
“It’s Easter Day, handsome. Everything’s closed. Nobody works. Even if the police get notified by your parents, it will take them a while to get in touch with Château Frontenac and go from there. Nobody even knows we left town! And I rent that car beforehand through my agent, and under an alias. I think we can breathe easy for today and take the time to stop for the mass,” she says as she turns on the ignition and we hear the nice, comforting sound from the straight-six-cylinder motor coming alive for the next leg of our journey on Route 2.
“And besides,” she adds as she flattens my soul with a killer smile, “that Catholic priest will probably be a very lonely man… Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
She then gracefully pulls back the three-on-the-tree gearshift lever and pushes it up to put the car into reverse, while I contemplate her stockinged lower legs and her shoed foot as she pushes the clutch, giggling like a teenage girl on her way to the malt shop.
The sunny landscape offers a nice getaway of shimmering blue that reflects the sky as we get glimpses of the St. Lawrence River beyond the leafless trees bordering the road. I see a red-and-black cargo ship from afar. It’s making headway toward Quebec City, where my parents must be out of their minds with worries over me. I ought to call them and tell them that I’m fine and I’ve gone of my own free will.
“Eliza, there’s a cargo ship on the St. Lawrence River. There are several crewmen on its board—six, perhaps seven men who feel lonely. Would you enjoy picturing yourself alone with them on that ship?”
“Lover! Don’t distract me like this while I’m driving! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I’m sure you would love to be there and watch!”
“More than that—I would hold you for them and watch. Then, I would partake!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! That would make a wonderful Easter Day for them, and for us…”
As I turn on the radio, I soon learn that I won my two-dollar wager. Boston won the game, four goals against two, and the series against Detroit. They will play the Montreal Canadiens for the Stanley Cup.
We are reaching Sainte-Anne-de-la-Pérade. On the radio, they are speaking about the song Jezebel that played on the air in Quebec City yesterday evening. People are shocked at such an immoral display of sinful lust on Easter Eve. Again, the dirty city, full of sins, is corrupting the pure minds of country folks. The priests are our shepherds and they would guide us away from sin and to salvation.
“You hear this, handsome lover? I’m the Jezebel corrupting a pure, virtuous Catholic boy like you. I should be burnt at the stake!” she playfully comments while driving on and slowing down as we enter the small town. She presently stops at a red traffic light suspended by cables above a crossroads.
“If they catch you, I’m certain that the priests will want to strip you naked and see what you look and feel like before they carry out the sentence,” I reply as she makes headway again on the town’s main street, pushing the three-on-the-column lever up into second gear with delightful grace; her white-gloved hands are a dream to watch as she brings it down into third gear; we’re cruising through the sunny village at 25 mph.
“Hmm! I would very much enjoy this… provided that you are there to watch it all. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I can be their Jezebel too. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
She keeps giggling with her bewitching voice and laughter as she once more slows down and downshifts into second gear before making a full stop and pushing the gas again. She gracefully works back up from first to third gear while I can’t get enough of watching her stockinged legs as she plays the clutch and pedals and her dainty hands on the chrome-and-black wheel, so lovely in her day gloves!
“I love so much watching you drive, Eliza. You’re quite a gal!”
“Hhmm… Does it give you ideas for later, handsome?”
“Perhaps. Yes. Once we’re far enough, perhaps we can…”
“Perhaps we can, what?” she replies, giggling while keeping her eyes on the street ahead of us.
“Well, I don’t know… Well, I do, but I’m a bit shy to tell you about it…”
“Oohh… Now, that sounds like some interesting, dirty stuff! Tell me, handsome! What are you planning to do with your old girl?”
“I’ll… I’ll tell you after the mass…”
There are very few people on the street on such a Sunday morning. People will only head out a bit later when all the church bells will chime to celebrate Christ’s Resurrection.
She looks beyond glamorous as she drives with her gloved hands and her head under that wonderful cashmere scarf. The idea of watching her getting gang-fucked by some dirty sailors on a squalid cargo ship is the most delightful sacrilege I can possibly think of.
We drive on, soon getting out of Sainte-Anne-de-la-Pérade and cruising on the highway at 45-50 mph.
“We’ll be an hour early when we get there.”
“I know, lover, but I’m certain we can pass the time between ourselves in a fun way. Do you like kissing inside an American car? Will the sight of my milk jugs be too adverse to you? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
We spot the white church at our left upon passing the crest of a hill. It is one of these picturesque churches from the past century that adorn the shores of St. Lawrence River like a rosary of little houses of God all the way from Montreal to Quebec City and some more to Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré and far beyond, reaching out to scattered gulf-shore hamlets as far as Rimouski and Gaspé, in these easternmost parts of the Belle Province, where the Easter church bells mingle with the roaring surf and find their echoes against Rocher Percé.
Gulls are flying around the church’s belfry; white birds gliding into the wind around a white tower under fair heavens. They are paying a social call to the Lord.
“Oohh! This is lovely! Lovely!” Elizabeth ejaculates as she admires the site and the wonderful setting—the white church on a small hill overlooking a wide forest of spruces and birches with the shimmering waters of St. Lawrence River as a grandiose backdrop.
Elizabeth parks the black Chevrolet in the empty gravel lot. She steps out of the car and dances with joy while looking up at the church’s belfry, the gulls and the sky. She’s laughing and giggling like a teen girl, yet again.
I take her hand and carry her purse, and off we go for a nice stroll on a ridge, where we find a breathtaking view of the tranquil St. Lawrence River, where another cargo ship is making its seemingly snail-pace headway out in the distance.
“This one is headed for Montreal.”
“Hmm, and it’s run by sailors who would love to have me onboard. Tell me, handsome, what would you do with me if you were them?” she asks, turning her brown eyes on me and taking my hands while the April breeze rustles leafless maple branches above us as we stand at the edge of a small forest.
“Well… I’m not them. They are sex-starved while I just got my fill with you… Twice this morning. I… Don’t get me wrong, Eliza, I love undressing you and all this, but right now… Right now I feel like just kissing you and enjoying the bright day. You can ask me that question later today and you may get a very different answer!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ooh, you’re so mature! So romantic! You know exactly what to tell a girl and when… Yes, I’m tired myself too. Let’s just be like teenage lovers. Let’s kiss and hold hands and enjoy the sun and the landscape. Isn’t it fabulous?”
“They don’t call it the Belle Province for nothing. I’ll tell you this, Eliza. This country is my home. There are spruces and firs standing in the horizon, and this is home to me. I was born here and I will be buried here.”
“So, you won’t be coming to Scotland? Don’t you want to meet my friends and family over there?”
“I don’t think your family will approve of us, but I’m curious to see what Glasgow is like. And besides, I said I’d like to be buried here in Quebec. I never said I didn’t want to travel. Please, tell me about your Scotland. Is it as fiercely romantic as I read in Rob Roy?”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No, not exactly, but I’m sure you’ll love my apartment in Glasgow, but I’m not sure I’ll introduce you to Margaret Lockwood; she would try to keep you for herself! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! And I want to keep you for myself! Now kiss me, silly boy, and make my girly head spin round!”
“It’s already spinning round!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Very true. Now, please, kiss me and make your girl happy!”
She laughs and giggles as she smears her dark rouge on my lips and cheeks as we share French kisses. Each time we kiss, we violate social customs, which makes the peachy softness of her lips even more delightful. Kissing her feels otherworldly. I wish it would last forever. The day is warmer than yesterday. It does feel like paradise; like an eternal spring.
We sit on a flat rock and I hold her gloved hands and tenderly stroke them as we keep French kissing. At times, the delicate tip of her nose gently strikes my own nose and she giggles, yet again. Gulls are making their usual cries while other birds are chirping in the trees. Squirrels are running nearby.
The quietness of the breeze and the delicate, porcelain-like clouds set a wonderful mood that imprints that moment for ever in my mind.
“Eliza. As I kiss you now, I know that no matter what happens, I will never forget you. I love you.”
She looks back at me with tears welling in her eyes and a smile fraught with joy and mystery, and a note of tragic despair.
“Je t’aime à la folie, mon amour!” (I’m crazy for you, my love.) She finally replies with her wonderful accent, and our kisses start a new merry-go-round.
This time I’m caressing her face as we keep kissing with fiery passion; she looks both solemn and glamorous with her pale headscarf. We keep trying to make time stop so we’ll remain here on that day for eternity. The gulls keep gliding around the belfry; another cargo ship is gently passing by on the St. Lawrence River.
By the time we get back, people are showing up for the high mass. There are a lot of red or black Chevy pick-up trucks in these rural parts, along with cars that are mostly between five and fifteen years old. These God-fearing farmers are especially fond of black as a sober colour for their cars. Their wives and daughters are all wearing hats; some have a scarf or shawl on their head. Many wives are leading a toddler by the hand.
In spite of the solemn proximity to the house of God, most of the local men and boys feel the need to keep staring at Elizabeth, making us as conspicuous as can be. It needs to be said that we kept holding hands a bit too long and people probably have noticed her hastily redone rouge. They also see that we are walking back from the woods, and for all teenagers and grown-ups, there is little doubt as to what we were doing over there.
These good people are shocked. I see it in their faces as clear as day. Some old women even sign themselves.
After we enter the church and wet our foreheads with holy water, we quietly take our seats on the fourth row from the back, rather far from the altar. We sign ourselves and start to pray.
The mass is quite long. The priest is wearing his full white regalia for Easter. He turns his back on us. He faces the crucifix and signs hymns in Latin along with a choir of young boys. It is beautiful to hear in this small church that smells of fresh pine wood; it clearly has been renovated as of late.
Toward the end of the mass, the priest addresses the congregation for his Easter sermon. He looks quite old, perhaps sixty-five years old, if not seventy. He stands tall at the pulpit. His silver beard gives him an authoritarian look. There are still hints of dark hair; that bearded man must have been quite intimidating back in his day.
As he talks, his powerful voice resonates throughout the church, reaching the two hundred-odd people crowding the high-ceilinged nave.
After some time speaking about the Resurrection and the mystery of life, he suddenly starts talking about yesterday evening and the song Jezebel that aired on the radio…
“My dear brothers and sisters, the fellow who put this evil song in the air is a poor wretch whom the Devil has seduced. Thankfully, we are good Catholic people who don’t speak English, so the words of this Protestant singer could not be understood and poison our souls with their lascivious message, which can only come from Satan.
“But we all heard the name, Jezebel. Jezebel, she who seduces men and leads them astray into temptation. I shall not say more here in the presence of children. Beware, my brothers! Beware, my sisters! Beware of the dark-haired woman who strikes you with her beauty and mystery. Beware of that woman you have never seen before, for her beauty will be your downfall! Beware!
“If you find yourself involved with such a woman, leave her at once! Leave her and go back to your true loved ones. You will only find salvation with your kin and your loved ones in the realm of the Church.
“We will now celebrate the high mysteries and the communion. As you receive the Host, think about what I just said. Stay with the ones who truly love you and do not let Satan’s deceptive charms lead you away from the path to salvation.”
Needless to say, everybody is staring at my lovely companion, who uncomfortably fits the description given by that old priest. As he gives his sermon, I keep thinking of the wonderful time we just spent together, kissing and holding hands under fair heavens, watching the tranquil flow of St. Lawrence River. I wonder what evil there could be in this.
With her fresh rouge and her wine-red greatcoat adorned with that fancy brooch of hers, Elizabeth looks indeed like a femme fatale. Her Madonna-style headscarf intensifies her pure-face beauty and glamour. Her visible hair frames her in black.
I could cut with a knife and take slices of jealousy from the stares I get from the men—and some teen girls. I suddenly realize that we are holding hands. People are shocked as they see her comparatively mature features next to my apple-cheek youth.
“Do not stir one inch,” she whispers as she holds my hand. “We do not need to fear these people, for we are in the house of God. Just don’t pay attention to them. I’ve seen this in Ireland too. Just don’t pay attention.”
After receiving the Host and concluding the high mass in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, we leave church while ignoring all these good people staring at us. I’m already starting to get used to having people staring at me.
I want to lead Elizabeth to her parked Chevy and be off right away, but the priest greets us outside where he’s shaking hands with churchgoers and wishes them a happy Easter. I wonder how he could be outside so soon after being seen near the altar.
He makes eye contact with us, especially Elizabeth. Something tells me that he’s already spotted us and he was waiting for us. He greets us with a benevolent-looking smile…
“Hello! I see that you are new here. Do not worry about what I said in there and do not pay attention to these stares you’re attracting. These folks wouldn’t hurt a fly. I know them well.”
“You seem to have been here for a long while, Father. I’m El… Elsie, I’m on my way to Montreal to visit family with my nephew,” she says, politely extending her gloved hand.
“I’m honoured! You may call me Father Sam,” answers our venerable host as he gently kisses the back of her hand, with a style I have never seen before. Given his age, he must have learned that style as a boy before 1900.
He has steel-blue eyes and there’s a definite intensity in the way he looks at Elizabeth alias Elsie. I am thrilled to be with an alias. It adds to her glamour. It feels like I’m in some film noir, running away from something. Sooner or later, fate is going to catch up with us. Let it be later…
“Uh, auntie,” I say, “I think we must get going; you said yourself that you wanted to…”
“Oh, but won’t you be our honoured guests for Easter? I civilly insist! You, my son, you will love my niece when you see her! She’s about your age, and you, Miss, I hear from your accented French that you are perhaps Scottish. I was myself born in Scotland. If I may, where are you from?”
“I’m from Glasgow. Our family is a large one.”
“I see. I grew up in Inverness, in the Highlands, a stone’s throw from Loch Ness Lake, and no, I haven’t seen the fabled monster, but I do believe it exists. I haven’t been in Scotland for more than thirty years. I migrated to Canada after the Great War, but I pray thee, Milady, I’m sure you and I would have a lot of things to talk about, two Scots in Canada, and we won’t be alone. There will be my niece, my deacon and the bishop himself, who is honouring us with his episcopal visit.”
“Your bishop? Why wasn’t he giving the mass?”
“He was a bit indisposed, Milady. His Excellency is even older than I am. He will be delighted to see such a nice and fascinating lady as you. Pray, be our guests! You’ll see that my niece Sophie is a wonderful cook. She brings much joy in my humble presbytery. We only have her for this weekend, alas; her mother will be with us for dinner tonight.”
Elizabeth leans close to me. Her eyes bright with excitement, she whispers… “What do you think, lover?”
I nod and she smiles radiantly.
There’s something I don’t like about this whole thing. What kind of mother allows her teenage daughter to spend a weekend by herself with grown men? But he’s her uncle and he must be a good, virtuous man. He must be… yet, my gut tells me that something is off.
I remember that Elizabeth carries a snub-nosed .38 Special revolver in her purse. I commit this vital information to my mind. That purse will be near me at all times. I whisper this to her ear.
“Oh, Gaston, don’t be such a child! It’s fine!” she replies.
“Does that mean you’re coming over for lunch?” our host says, staring at Elizabeth with an intensity that arouses me in a weird, preposterous way.
Elizabeth nods and smiles.
The presbytery is a white, rustic house built in the Canadian style with dormers letting the daylight flood the bedrooms on the upper floor. The black roof tiles remind me that all is not white and pure in this world. I keep my guard up as we pass the threshold.
Standing in the kitchen, I see the prettiest teenage girl who ever met my eyes.
Sophie stands at the sink and greets me with a warm country girl’s smile. She looks like a petite girl straight out of my dreams, except her hair isn’t midnight black; it’s a warm chestnut that wonderfully highlights the luminous whiteness of her innocent-looking face. She wears it teenage-style, in a simple ponytail. She looks really cute with her thin eyebrows that make me daydream of a nice strip of dark hair adorning that treasure which is hidden under her skirt.
Looking down her figure, I see a typical plaid shirt, mostly green and gold, with a simple, mud-brown skirt that lets the daylight fall on her bare lower legs; then my heart pulse goes up a bit as I notice that she is barefoot. She follows my gaze and grins at me while making a playful curtsey.
“I see that you like Sophie, my young friend… Ah, blessed days of my youth!” says my expressive, thick-bearded host, who looks a bit like Santa Claus wearing a Catholic soutane.
Sophie turns back to the wood-burning cookstove and attends to her cooking, while I can’t help but notice how her thin belt highlights her supple waist and the appeal of her youthful curves.
An old man laughs and comments about the way I’m gazing at their cook. I look at Elizabeth as she takes off her headscarf, and I see something I have never seen in her face—jealousy. But it lasts only a fleeting moment.
“Oh, of course, my nephew doesn’t get to see girls his age very often. He’s attending a boarding school for boys,” Elizabeth suddenly says, very casually.
I want to kiss and reassure her, and I mean it, but I must play my part as her nephew. Elizabeth is acting wonderfully; she’s in her natural element. Finding a girl pretty doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on her, although I would definitely love to fuck that girl in front of Elizabeth and include her in a hot threesome.
Father Sam makes the introductions. Bishop Clairmont looks very old indeed; he must be seventy-five, at least. It suddenly strikes me that he was my age around 1890, when all streets resonated with horse hoofs and rolling carriages, just like in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
Robert, the deacon, is perhaps forty years old. He’s rather thin and not-so-good looking. He strikes me as someone who could play the role of a fearsome-looking brigand, but at present, the dark-haired man wears the soutane of a Catholic churchman and looks rather dignified, but this seems to be a thin veneer.
When Sophie shakes my hand, I do my best attempt at kissing the back of her hand; she’s so graceful! Her white skin is heavenly silk and touching her electrifies me. I just can’t help it. To me, a whole new world opens when my eyes meet hers from up close. I barely register the colour of her blue eyes; I feel weightless on my feet and no longer know where I am.
Sophie… Her husband will be a lucky fellow. But… What am I thinking?! I’m with Elizabeth. We just met yesterday! I’m so confused.
When we all sit to eat, Elizabeth closes her eyes as we listen to the bishop’s prayer.
“Gratias Tibi agimus, Domine, quod cibus ad essendum et vinum ad bibendum nobis est. In nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritus sancti. Amen,” says the venerable bishop.
“Amen!” we all answer.
Elizabeth sits next to me, near the old bishop who presides the table opposite our guest. Sophie is facing me, beside the deacon, who sits quite close to her. I can tell that the two of them are probably intimate, and who am I to judge a girl for liking a man twice her age? I’m presently holding hands with a woman twice my own age under the table, while she kicked off her shoe and her stockinged foot is gently pressed on my lower leg.
Father Sam is grinning at us.
At the wooden wall above us, near a deer head, the cuckoo clock breaks the silence with its steady ticking.
Everything in that house offers the warmth of wood. There are heavy rugs on the floor, all of them of a dark wine red with faded patterns. I also notice a black cat sleeping in a corner of the dining room where we all sit at a large colonial-style table as Sophie presently brings the steaming pea soup.
Father Sam is very entertaining in his speech. He tells Elizabeth that she’s going to have her very first authentic Canadian springtime dinner, which always features maple syrup.
“Plenty of sap in the trees, this year!” Robert the deacon observes, looking straight down at Elizabeth’s bosom.
Elizabeth greatly enjoys the food. After the pea soup, which is house-cooked and tastes amazing, comes a large omelette with a generous piece of ham and slabs of bacon, with beans on the side. There’s also fresh country bread and some dill pickles. Nothing of these fine dishes would be truly Canadian without maple syrup.
This one is amber. I tell Elizabeth that amber syrup is the one that tastes strongest.
“Well, it is fitting to be having strong-tasting syrup while being the guests of such a warm-hearted priest!” the Scottish actress replies, smiling at our broad-shouldered guest, who now wears his usual cassock without all the Easter regalia.
“This is indeed the syrup with the strongest taste. Do you like it, Milady?” says Father Sam, smiling a mile wide while Elizabeth keeps eating.
As she eats, Elizabeth clings to me. The touch of her foot gets very sensual against my lower leg, under my tweed trousers. She smiles at me and gives me some more of her girl-in-candy-store look, uncaring about whatever our dignified guests may find odd in this. We already know that everybody sitting at that dignified table has secrets, and everybody knows that there is a lot more than meets the eye.
Sophie is soon gone.
“Sophie isn’t very hungry,” says Father Sam with a playful grin. The bishop lets out a short burst of laughter. Sophie shyly smiles at me, then looks down to the floor and blushes as she leaves the room and goes upstairs, with the house cat trailing her.
I get curious about her and start asking questions. I get the same story over again. She’s seventeen and lives in Three Rivers and her mother will take her back with her tonight. I’m sure they aren’t telling all, not after seeing Robert sitting so close to her.
The conversation gets quieter. Something more serious hangs in the air. Sam begins to talk about his younger days. When he was just a teenage boy, he enlisted in the British Army by lying about his age. He was only fifteen.
He wound up in South Africa where he was part of the small garrison in Mafeking when the Second Boer War broke out in 1899.
He speaks very highly of Colonel Baden-Powell, under whose orders he had the honour to fight. They were only a battalion of about 1,200 men plus some irregulars from the civilian population of Mafeking, a town of capital strategic importance.
They held out the town in a dreadful siege against 9,000 Boers who had heavy artillery, while they had only their regimental light cannons.
“We basically starved for the last hundred days. Do you know what it’s like to be really hungry, Milady? So hungry that you start eating your own leather belt. We ate all the horses in the town; after that, we started eating dogs. Our Colonel played amazing tricks and ruses to make the enemy believe there were more of us, to make us look strong while we were so few in numbers and starving.
“Any other commander wouldn’t have lasted more than fifty days, being very generous. He would have retreated and left the town and its white and African population to their fate at the hands of the Boers…
“What do you think the Boers would have done with the civilians in Mafeking, Elsie?”
He looks at her in earnest as he asks this loaded question. Bishop Clairmont and Robert watch her intensely as she gathers the loaded meaning and slightly blushes under their collective gaze; their stares are suddenly loaded with lust bordering on the predatory.
“Father Sam…”
She’s breathing hard and deep as she speaks.
“The question is a very simple one, Milady. Would you have enjoyed being one of the English women of Mafeking if the Boers had captured the town?”
“Well, Father, we’re all adults here and none of us are stupid. They would have done what no history book ever mentions…”
Elizabeth clings to my hand under the table; she’s panting hard, sweating too. She’s clearly aroused.
With my other hand, I check inside her purse and I’m in for a surprise—Elizabeth’s revolver is gone!
Who could have taken it?
This is serious, very serious. We are in grave danger.
Before I have time to whisper anything to her ear, she grabs her purse and excuses herself to the loo.
After ten or fifteen seconds, I follow suit, with all three men intensely watching me. The cuckoo clock is ticking audibly in this ominous atmosphere. Their intentions are pretty clear; no wonder Sophie left for her room upstairs. She must know them well. I suspect that she’s been here for a lot longer than the priest said. My chivalric instincts make me want to rescue her, but how? We’re unarmed now… and one of them is. Could priests break the sacred laws of hospitality so evilly? The answer to that question scares me.
Yet, the idea of Elizabeth getting gang-fucked in front of me gives me a monstrous erection that gets in the way of peeing.
Together in the bathroom, we quickly set up a plan.
“Look, lover, there’s only one way out of this. I’ll… I’ll use my charms to keep them distracted and get them tired; I’ll do my best to control them and spare myself. Anyway,” she says with a smile, “I was planning to let them shag me in front of you, but why would these men want me when they already have a teenage girl under their roof?”
“I don’t know, Eliza. Either she’s really his niece and he’s not touching her, but she’s probably with the younger deacon, and she’s… I think she’s been here long enough for them to see you as something… something new and very attractive, and you sure are!”
“We must save ourselves, lover. They have my gun! We’re in positive danger. Look, stay close to me at all times. The keyword will be gentle gunman, all right? When I start calling them “gentle gunmen”, grab me and we’ll run for it! Only one of them is still young; we can make it if we take them by surprise. As for the girl, we’ll make an anonymous call to the police with her description; I don’t think you’ll forget what she looks like, won’t you, lover?”
She speaks the last sentence with an amused grin and she adds, “Here, take the keys to our car! Keep them in your pocket and do not lose them; our very life may depend on this. I’ll let them… I’ll let them strip me naked and gang-shag me for a good while to get their guard down; just keep quiet and don’t stir until I say gentle gunman.”
I nod and we walk back to the dining room. Fear turns my legs to lead while she’s wonderfully acting her part of an aroused girl about to get into an intense foursome.
They have quickly cleared the table while we were gone. They all sit and stare at her. Robert licks his lips as he visually devours Elizabeth from head to toe. Father Sam is clearly aroused; one of his hands is busy somewhere under the table. Bishop Clairmont has risen from his seat, stating that he needs to stretch his old legs a bit. He literally eats her up with his own lustful gaze. I had no idea such an old man could be such a pervert!
Then, I suddenly think of Sophie and my erection becomes painfully hard as I picture her in a willing foursome with all these three men.
“Father Sam,” Elizabeth says with a cheerful voice as she gives all men present her femme fatale smile, “Father Sam, about the women in Mafeking falling into Boer hands, I’ll tell you a little something…
“You know that there are wives who get little affection from their husbands. Well, I think that many of these English wives would have loved to give themselves to the Boer soldiers and to receive their lust. With all this post-battle passion flowing, these women would have melted in their arms and gladly taken their semen in a gigantic, town-sized orgy!”
As she speaks, Elizabeth unbuttons the top of her dark-green dress, one button after another, revealing her statuesque cleavage.
The eighty-year-old bishop, his eyes nearly pulled out of their sockets by the scene, holds onto the table as he starts to breathe harder.
Robert, grinning with pure joy in his eyes, rises from his seat and walks to Elizabeth, while Sam observes her with calculated resolve in his face. Father Sam is the most cunning one of the three, and he’s probably still very strong physically in spite of his age. He’s probably the one with the gun. Yet, I have a hunch that something escaped me.
“Father Sam,” Elizabeth says with the most seductive voice I ever heard, “Oh, Father Sam, your tale has greatly excited me! You know exactly what to say to a girl to get her in the mood! What I’m going to tell you may surprise you, but I… I feel like… Yes, Robert, you may come and kiss me. I’d like this very much!”
Robert immediately rushes at Elizabeth and kisses her as he literally screams his lust into her gaping mouth. I see her tense, as she clearly doesn’t like his touch all that much, but then, Father Sam makes a wicked grin and also rushes at Elizabeth and grabs her buttocks, very crudely, while the venerable bishop sits down on a chair and watches the unreal scene unfolding in front of his porcelain-blue eyes.
The tension and danger make my senses inordinately keen. The cuckoo’s ticking is almost deafening to me as I sense the men’s off-the-chart lust for Elizabeth as they grab her with just as much hunger as brigands who get their hands on a pretty—and surprisingly willing—traveller after a year without sex.
“Ohh, yes! Undress me!” Elizabeth purrs as she starts to moan when Robert fills the room with a resounding grunt as he brutally pulls her unbuttoned dress top all the way down along her shoulders and arms; he starts avidly kissing her breasts through her white bra, which Father Sam grabs from behind and sharply pulls down along with her messed-up dress.
Elizabeth now stands topless, sandwiched between Robert and Sam, who towers above her as he impatiently undoes her thin leather belt before hurrying her dress down along her legs, all the way down to her ankles and feet, while the thinner man, Robert feverishly sucks and kneads her breasts as she moans and calls his name. She keeps her half-heel shoes and her worshippers make no effort to take them off.
Father Sam then violently rips her panties off and goes down on his knees, where he finds himself face to face with Elizabeth’s luminous derriere; he growls with the release of his pent-up lust as he licks the soft vastness of her butt while running his sacrilege hands all over her lovely contours, going nuts as he feels how thin and supple her waist really is relative to the sensual expanse of her hourglass figure.
Her dark stockings and suspenders greatly magnify the superb whiteness of her Scottish complexion.
“Let’s have her between the two of us, Robert! I’ll go first, since I’m the elder.”
“What about the bishop, Sam?”
“Oh, I know him. It will take him an eternity to get it up, and besides, I’m pretty sure that Sophie gave him a wonderful mouth job this morning like she loves to do. You know how she is; she’s so fond of old men!”
“Ooh… Yes! Shag me!” Elizabeth moans, reverting to her native English. “I’ve always wanted to make love with a Catholic priest! Oohh, I know this will be so very good… And the more men, the merrier! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Don’t worry, Milady! You’ll be our very special Jezebel! All right, Robert, help me, we’re going to lay her down on the table…”
Elizabeth is a brilliant actress. I have no idea whether she’s faking her arousal or not. I heard her coming in my arms and her sounds seem pretty genuine to me now. She keeps looking at me as they lift her up her feet and lay her down on the cleared table, in the nude except for her stockings and her black half-heel shoes.
I have to confess that what I’m witnessing is extremely arousing. My erection is pushing hard against my trousers and I’m sweating under my suit and tie. I have to make a violent effort to keep my mind clear and keep my focus on the agreed keyword. I’m always closely watching Father Sam, who gives no signs of taking off his cassock.
Robert holds Elizabeth’s wrists and her dainty hands make lovely-looking fists as all men contemplate her naked charms. They were clearly daydreaming of this moment the whole time we ate.
The bishop is now standing and masturbating. The wrinkled and bald man has stripped himself naked surprisingly fast, and now he’s doing his best to get some life into his old dick. Robert has saucer eyes that look hypnotized by Elizabeth’s breasts. Stooping down, he kisses them while keeping his hold on her arms as she responds with soft whimpers to his ministrations.
Father Sam quickly disrobes himself and presently stands stark naked between Elizabeth’s legs with his rather large cock resting on the triangular blackness of her Scottish rug. You have to see this to believe it actually happened. The man is more than twice her age; this is loudly proclaimed by the silver hair that surrounds his loaded balls.
“Now, Milady, now! This is what I wanted to do since the very first time I saw you during my sermon! Now, my sweet little Jezebel, you are caught and will be properly punished… Yaarrrhh!”
And with that wild grunt, Father Sam punches a forceful thrust inside Elizabeth, who intensely bolts under Robert’s grasp while Sam takes firm hold of her waist and starts banging her on the massive, colonial-style table with vocal delight.
Elizabeth’s moaning and groaning respond to his victorious grunting as he finds a steady rhythm and fucks her with intense bliss on the creaking table. I’m having an urgent need to masturbate, but Elizabeth must rely on me.
“Ah, yes! At last! At last… I can mount her… Ahrr… Aahrr… Ahhrr… At last…” Father Sam keeps uttering between his teeth as he enjoys the animalistic coitus and keeps grunting like a rutting boar.
Elizabeth keeps moaning, her beautiful head of raven hair now bobbing and sliding on the table under that steady, forceful rhythm, along with her jiggling breasts under Robert’s domination, while Father Sam keeps avidly punching himself inside her with the same unbridled intensity of a man lost on a desert island for years before finding the improbable opportunity for shared relief with the female survivor of a shipwreck.
Elizabeth’s eyes never leave me as she wraps her stockinged legs around Father Sam’s overweight nakedness while he accelerates his pace into a frenzied rush.
She suddenly yelps with what sounds like a genuine climax just as he detonates with a loud growl and shoots what’s clearly an epic load that utterly floods her.
Just as he shoots his load inside her, the cuckoo clock comes alive and strikes two o’clock…
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Then, the wooden bird sinks back into its nest while the little doors close upon him and the nice wooden work of rustic art reverts to its quiet ticking. The deer head nearby is unmoved.
“Oh, good Lord! Oh, Good old, mighty Lord and fiddlesticks!” the old Scottish man says, suddenly reverting to his native English as he holds himself onto a side table.
Robert now takes his turn. His rat face and brigand-like ugliness make him look like the very last man a glamorous actress such as Elizabeth would pick. His eyes are burning with anticipation as he rushes his dark soutane overhead and hurriedly drops his boxers.
He displays a surprisingly athletic nakedness, similar to some lightweight prizefighters, as he urgently penetrates my girlfriend.
Grunting like a savage baboon, he shakes Elizabeth on the creaking table and surpasses Father Sam in intensity.
The sight of Elizabeth’s dancing nipples under Robert’s vile-looking face makes me mad with the desire to pull out my own dick and take my turn. I am mad for a relief! No matter what I did not so long ago, my dick and my balls seem to be bursting with hot seed.
“Ooh… yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Keep… going! Oh! Robert! Robert! You’re the man! You’re so much better than the other one! So m-much better… Ooh, yes! Yes! Ooh, my God! Oh yes! This is it! This is it! Robert… Robert! Aaahh… aahh, aah, aah… Aaah, my God! Robert!”
As she hits her jackpot, or so it seems, Robert feverishly holds her waist and frantically bangs her as hard and fast as he can, until the crazy-eyed, rat-faced man finally relieves himself and lets out a series of inarticulate groans as he powerfully erupts inside the Scottish actress.
The venerable bishop presently rushes at Elizabeth, his pale eyes as big as saucers, and holds his half-erect dick above her sweaty breasts. He frantically masturbates and soon utters a growling series of bass notes as he explodes with a surprisingly big load that splatters the silky-soft hills of her breasts, putting a scandalous coat of glistening cream over them as she remains panting.
This is too much!
I lose control and I rush at Elizabeth. I grab her legs and prop them up, where I kiss her black-stockinged feet and let them rest on my fully clothed chest; she lost her shoes during her previous fucks and feeling the little balls of her feet on me is priceless; the scent from them adds another layer of pleasure. I punch my dick inside her and I fuck her strong and good, just as if my very life depended on how hard I can fuck Elizabeth. She seems to be taken with a flurry of electric shocks as I bang her on that table and whoop with unrestrained joy…
“Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh…”
Elizabeth fills the room with her moans under this unabated barrage…
“Oohh… Ooh, ooh! Ooh! Ooh… Aaah… My young… young buck, sh-sh… shaking me! He’s only sixteen! Sixteen…”
I soon scream my detonating bliss and spew my young ammo in one massive load. I’m panting and speechless with my legs turning to Jell-O. I suddenly skid and slip to the floor, finding that it was a piece of bacon that made me slip.
When I stand up, I am presented with another unreal scene.
Elizabeth is kneeling in front of Father Sam and she’s avidly licking his balls while massaging his half-flaccid dick. The old man keeps uttering, “Ohh, good mighty Lord! Jezebel! Jezebel…”
Robert kneels behind her and makes her purr in approval by caressing her breasts and her butt. He also gives some attention to her stockinged feet that rest under her buttocks; she keeps purring as she starts to suck Father Sam’s growing size.
Soon enough, she’s got Sam hard and going again. He then gently persuades her to take position on all fours, where her beauty blasts all men present with wonder and intense lust.
Father Sam is the first man to get lucky. He gleefully punches inside her and spends the next ten minutes in complete ecstasy, his hands holding and stroking her buttocks and her sides while he remains prisoner of the eternal back-and-forth dance to which mankind owes its very survival.
I masturbate hard as I watch, waiting impatiently for my turn while holding my hard wood.
At last, Father Sam erupts inside her and rams himself as deep as he can while he fills her up. Then, I take my own turn and for a magic moment that ends up all too soon, I watch the fascinating curves of her white derriere getting flattened repeatedly as they keep colliding with me while all my penile fibres get a vigorous massage from her vaginal contractions as she keeps moaning.
At one point, she bolts at the tip of my cock and I feel the primal intensity of her orgasm. Then, I picture Sophie and her nubile-pure butt in my mind as I imagine her getting bent over the table and rear-fucked by Father Sam while Robert is waiting his turn.
“Aaarrrhhg! Sophie!” I scream as I blissfully explode inside Elizabeth, whose alias I forgot.
Robert rolls her around on the wine-red rug, and he lays himself on top of her and begins to savagely fuck her.
She keeps uttering his name, panting and sweating and moaning under him as he pounds her, his expanding pleasure and the coital pressure pushing loud grunts out of him. He raises and spoons himself so he can cup and kiss her moving and flowing breasts as he keeps pounding her.
I can tell that this deacon is an experienced lover. He must be giving a lot of pleasure to Sophie.
He soon growls and lets go an unbridled load of Catholic semen inside the Protestant woman. The Reform is abolished in this Canadian house.
The room is suddenly silent.
What’s going on?
There’s only the cuckoo’s ticking…
I turn around, following everyone else’s gaze.
Sophie is standing by the door leading to the living room.
She has a gun.
She’s got Elizabeth’s snub-nosed revolver and she’s pointing it at the three naked men of God. The black cat is purring at her feet.
“Sophie, give me that gun!” utters Father Sam with a gruff, authoritarian voice. Something tells me that this is perhaps the usual, everyday Father Sam speaking.
“Father Sam, I would be very sorry to shoot you. You’ve always been kind to me, you and Robert. You’re strange men, but deep down, you’re kind-hearted and I love you; you know I do. I also know you and I wouldn’t want these good people to be kept here for longer than they meant to stay. I gather that they have to get back on the road. We all understood that this young man isn’t really her nephew, not any more than I’m your niece.
“I’m here with this gun to make sure that you and Robert won’t compel this woman and her lover to overstay their welcome!”
Sophie… She was the one who took the gun! She must have taken it while serving our food, and she did so like a truly skilled pickpocket artist. She doesn’t really mean to harm the men, who all look at her with a white face and a flabbergasted expression.
Sophie holds the three naked priests at gunpoint while Elizabeth quickly gets dressed again. With my assistance, Sophie herds them to the basement and tells me to follow her downstairs, where she lights up a lone light bulb.
“Are you good with knots, Gaston?”
I nod. She hands me three bundles of rope. I have to thank Baden-Powell for this. I can’t resist the pleasure to taunt my naked prisoners with a zest of irony…
“Father Sam, I learned these knots when I was a Boy Scout… and you served under Baden-Powell. There’s a definite touch of irony in this, wouldn’t you say?”
“You won’t get away with this! I know who that actress is! I’ve seen her in British movies! I’ll phone the police and give her identity and your description. They’ll catch you in no time!”
“Don’t listen to him, he’s bluffing. As long as I stay with you, he will absolutely not say anything. If the fuzz catch you, they’ll identify me and they’ll be asking him a lot of difficult questions; he’ll be on his way to jail. I’ve been living here of my own free will, I’ll explain this to you later, but I may tell the fuzz otherwise. I liked it here, Father Sam, I really did. And you Robert, you were the first true lover I ever had. I will never forget you. But it is time for me to live and see the world!”
“Sophie! Don’t leave me! I love you! Please, stay!” Robert cries, before breaking down in tears. I pity the man, for he’s clearly in love with this girl.
“You have nothing on us!” Father Sam cuts in.
“I wouldn’t bet on this. I’ve kept a detailed journal, hidden from you, a journal where I wrote down every detail; every penny you stole from your parishioners; the names of every wife you copulated with since last year. You didn’t do any crime against me, and I swear to God that I will never lie about this unless you force me to, but you did commit robbery and you did lead honest wives into adultery.
“Yes, you’ve been very good to me, both of you; you’ve given me so much pleasure in the bedroom, especially you, Robert. I love to swallow an old man’s cum; I learned this, among many other dirty things. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but now, I need to see what life is like out there! I won’t tell anyone about the money you stole, as long as you leave us alone, and I’m taking Lancelot with me; that cat is one with me ever since you gave it to me last year for my sixteenth birthday… Deal? Deal?!”
“Deal”, Father Sam exhales with reluctance. Then he adds, “I’m defeated by a girl with a revolver! I fought 9,000 Boers and kept them at bay, and in the end, I get this…”
“You brought this to yourself, Father Sam. There’s still time for you to make amends and give back what you stole to all these good people. So long, Father Sam! So long, Your Excellency, and by the way, your episcopal semen tastes wonderful! So long, my dear, sweet Robert!”
Having said this, Sophie tenderly kisses Robert, who is freely weeping and having a fit of sobs in his bondages.
“Carole Barnabé likes you, Robert. You should go see her. I think you’ll make her happy. So long, Robert…”
“Sophie… Sophie… Don’t leave! Sophie-ee-hee-ee-eeeeee…”
Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth is driving her rental Chevy again, westbound on Route 2. Her white-gloved hands are slightly trembling as she drives on at fifty miles per hour and sometimes pushing it to fifty-five or sixty whenever we aren’t crossing a town or a village.
She’s sipping a Seven-Up while driving, and telling us that she came quite close to throwing up her lunch during the vigorous round of sex she just had.
Three Rivers are already behind us and we’re headed for Louiseville and Berthierville, then Lavaltrie.
We have two passengers in the backseat—Sophie with her cat Lancelot on her lap; she keeps stroking his black fur while he keeps quietly purring in his half-sleep.
My hand remains on Elizabeth’s thigh while she drives on with her usual grace, presently gently turning the wheel to the left and passing a Shell fuel truck. Sophie’s words still resonate in my mind…
“Will you take me with you, Ma’am? I’ll take my things and some money and I won’t cause you any trouble, I mean you and your boyfriend…”
Elizabeth smiled, while Father Sam was yelling and cursing in the basement. She giggled…
“Ha! Ha! Ha! You really don’t know me, do you? Do you think I would leave you here, alone with these dirty old men?”
“Don’t speak about them that way! My life at home with my folks was hell! These priests were always kind to me. They gave me a much better home! Their kindness may be a bit twisted, but it is genuine. I know the difference.”
Elizabeth looked at her in shock. Sophie kept talking…
“I know this is hard for you to believe, but yes, I do like Father Sam, and I even think that I love Robert, but I’ve always lived in some quaint, remote countryside with very little people to see and talk to. I’m curious to know what life is like in a big city like Montréal. When I saw how well-dressed you were, and your manners so well-polished, I became curious. When I found your revolver—here it is (she presently gave it back to Elizabeth)…
“When I felt and found that revolver in your purse, then I knew it was time for me to leave. It was fate.” Sophie glanced at me and smiled in a mischievous way, and added, “Don’t worry about me stealing your boyfriend! I prefer much older men. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Sophie, I’m exactly your opposite; for me, it’s the other way around—I can’t live without sucking teenage dicks! I think you and I have much to tell each other. As I said, we’re not leaving you here, so pack your things and come!”
And there she is in the backseat of Elizabeth’s rental Chevy, her cat meowing on her lap as we reach Lavaltrie in the late afternoon, cruising on Route 2 at the time of the day when the shadows grow long.
