Chapter 2

My mother gave me my name, Eloise. It was the name of her mother, the Countess ***, who was the last of a long linage of Breton land aristocracy. My father gave me my surname, which is Jewish.

We lived in the ancestral house, a grand manor in the middle of a forest. Father was a merchant. He had no title, which is why I am not a Countess.

Mother was the only living descendant of the family. The house and the title were the only things that she had left from a past I heard being somewhat illustrious. But that was probably centuries ago. By the time my mother was born, there was little left in the family coffers.

She married father hoping that a man in the mercantile trade could restore the family's status. For a while, this actually seemed possible.

My parents had three children in quick succession: two boys and, finally, me.

My parents had odd ideas. They believed that their children should life the life of noblemen, which meant we were not supposed to join the local school with other children our age, but we were privately tutored in the house.

My brothers enjoyed hunting and horse riding, and our present situation of financial ease allowed them to indulge in such activities.

I was shy and reserved. While my brothers deserted their studies, encouraged by our father who often reminded us that he built his fortune by taking risks rather than reading books, I regularly attended the morning classes with our tutor. I arrived at the age of eighteen with a good degree of fluency in Latin and Ancient Greek, although, I regretted to learn later on, I was much too ignorant of many other important notions.

At that time, our family fortune was probably at its highest point. We had maids to attend to the house, cooks, a priest to celebrate the functions in the private chapel, the tutor I have alluded to, and other people that took care that the family needs be met.

My father was often travelling, and he may have been abroad on the night I am about to talk about.

I couldn't sleep. I remember the moonlight flooding my bedroom: it was almost as bright as day, but, although I could see every object around me very clearly, there was a dreamy quality to the scene.

I lay on my bed not thinking about anything in particular when I heard the noise of a door somewhere on the corridor. It was the faint sound of a latch that's being engaged, the creaking of a door that's being gently opened, and then the sound of the door being closed again.

You see, when someone is doing something they don't feel guilty about, they make as much noise as they want, but I smiled to myself then, as I knew that those muffled noises meant some degree of secrecy.

I got off the bed. It was a warm night, and the coolness of the floor felt pleasant as my feet touched its surface.

I opened the door, having to be more silent that whoever had preceded me. Outside my door, I looked around and saw a shadow move at the end of the corridor.

I followed it at a distance.

The light of the moon through the windows made this chase easy, but I still wasn't sure who this person was. Maybe one of my brothers? They were certainly often up to no good.

Our house was an old Breton castle, which meant a big farmhouse. It didn't have the refined features of the castles on the Loire Valley, nor the commodities of the large mansions of London or New York. The décor was bare, with heavy, dark furniture. The rooms were drafty, and the smell of freshly cut hay from the fields was in the air.

I followed the shadow downstairs, excited by this diversion on an otherwise boring night. The house was all silent with the exception of the steps of the person ahead of me.

We walked down the stairs.

I was being careful not to make a noise or be seen.

We walked along the corridor on the ground floor. The person in front of me wasn't running but was walking a bit faster than before, probably knowing that the people upstairs, who were certainly asleep in their beds, could not hear any sound coming from this part of the house.

Finally, I saw the stranger open the small door that led to the family chapel. This was a small building, slightly detached from the main house, but connected to it by a short external corridor.

I thought this was a little strange, and I was eager to investigate, and I was savouring the thrill of catching one of my brothers red-handed.

I walked after this person along the small corridor. I slowly opened the wooden door that led to the church. Just an inch initially. I wanted to get a glimpse of whoever might be inside.

At this point, I have to say that the priest appointed to this chapel normally lived and slept in a small cottage on the grounds, so I was fairly sure that the person I had followed was not him.

I opened the door. The lights in the nave were off, but some brightness came in through the slim latticed windows. My eyes had to adapt to this penumbra to finally recognise my mother.

She was standing in her nightgown near the altar.

Allowing for the fact that I was eighteen, she was in her early forties. I still have pictures of her at that time, and she was a very beautiful woman. She had fine blonde hair and pale skin. She had blue eyes, a little too large, but very expressive. She was slender with the figure of a classical dancer.

My mother and I look very much alike. My brothers take after father. They have olive skin and dark hair. They're also a little short, whereas I am tall, fair skinned, with red hair.

I was wondering what mother was doing in the chapel at this hour. She always attended mass during the week, and I knew she was very religious, but she didn't seem to be praying. I wondered if there was something on her mind, a secret worry perhaps.

I snuck into the chapel and hid behind the pews.

I don't know why, but my heart was pounding nervously. I wasn't excited about catching someone in a secret activity, but about being catched in the act of spying.

After a moment, I heard the noise of a door on the other side of the nave. While the door I had come through connected this building to the main house, this other led to the grounds.

I raised my head slowly to see if my mother had perhaps walked out from there, but I noticed a second person inside the chapel.

It was Father Briac.

Father Briac had been with our family for as long as I remember. He is a few years younger than my mother. He has a slim, tall body, but a deep voice. I always found such powerful voice coming out of this delicate looking man quite wonderful. He was always very serious in his demeanour. I don't believe I ever saw him smile, let alone laugh. Growing up, I was fearful of him.

I was shocked when I observed the priest walk up to my mother and kiss her!

I hid my face again under the pews. My head was spinning. I was trembling. I certainly couldn't leave, and I didn't know what I was supposed to do, but I knew I was not supposed to be there. I was not supposed to be spying this scene. And yet, I peeked again.

My mother was running her hand through Father Briac's red hair.

The priest was holding her in his arms.

I wanted to hide again, but I couldn't stop looking. Even though I was already eighteen (I'm sure most of the girls my age who lived in the village were much more educated on this front), I only had a very vague idea of sex, mainly derived from Greek poems and Renaissance paintings, which certainly couldn't prepare me for the shock of seeing the priest slide his hand between my mother's thighs.

My eyes had now adjusted to the low light, and I could see every little detail of the scene.

Father Briac then took off his shirt, while my mother dropped her nightgown. Her skin was milky white and was almost glowing in the night air.

The priest put his hand back between my mother's thighs, his fingers disappearing in the dark bush that covered her pubis.

My mother made a noise to indicate she liked it. It was a noise like no other I had ever heard: it was the moan of the feverish patient. Then, as he kept massaging her, she unbuckled his belt, then the buttons of his trousers. She let them drop to the ground, and she put her hand inside his underpants.

I didn't know what any of this meant, but I felt a strange curiosity about it.

I watched her kiss him with more passion than I had ever seen her use with father; then, she got on her knees, and, having removed his underpants, she put his penis in her mouth.

I watched her go back and forth with her head. She was on her knees with her legs slightly apart, so that with one hand she could massage herself, like the priest had done to her before.

At that point, Father Briac lifted my mother up and put her on the altar, where she lay. He climbed on top of her and put his penis in her vagina.

'It's so big! You know I'm very small…' she said in a whisper.

'Let me see,' he said. 'Oh, but it's so nice, and… Here it is…'

'Ohhh!' she cried, then she laughed: 'It always fits in the end.'

'Do you like it?' he asked.

'It nearly drives me crazy… It's so big, and it goes so deep!' she said in a teary tone.

'Yeah?' he asked, and he pushed in a bit harder.

'Ah! You nearly break me!'

I knew, almost vaguely and in an academic way, that the coupling of the male and the female genital organs is a necessity of reproduction, but nobody had explained what I was witnessing, and I had to be self-taught in this regard. I watched the scene with curiosity, but, at the same time, feeling some arousal.

The priest and my mother were now moaning. Every movement, one moan from each of them.

'Mh, mh, mh.'

Now and then, they were saying things like:

'There… There… Don't stop!'

'You're a little slut.'

'You're driving me mad.'

'Take it!'

Then, the priest and my mother moved about, and now the priest was lying on his back, and my mother was sitting on top of him.

She was laughing a little, and she seemed to be struggling because I heard her say:

'In this position, I feel it even more. Ooh! See how you're stretching me. Mmh…'

But, at this point, the priest pulled her down on top of him, and I could see that his penis had penetrated her vagina completely.

She screamed: 'Aaah!'

He asked her: 'Don't you like it?'

'Yes, yes. It's so good. Push it in again… Yes! Don't stop!'

She was begging him to keep going, to go harder on her.

The priest raised his hands and held her small breasts.

'Ahhh!' she cried out again.

'Say it!' he ordered.

'Please, make me come!'

He pushed hard with his pelvis towards her, and she bounced on him.

'Like this?' he asked.

'Harder!' she pleaded in a breathless voice. 'I want to come all over your cock!'

He pushed again, and she moaned.

'Squeeze them harder,' she said. Then, as he probably had tightened his grip on her breasts, she swore (which she never did) and moaned again.

She lowered her head and kissed him on the lips, then she lifted her torso again and put her fingers on his hands, so that they were holding her breasts together.

The priest was now grunting with every movement. He seemed incapable of speaking coherently anymore.

'Uh… Ah… Yes… Little whore…'

Also, my mother was just repeating words, mixed with grunts and moans and little cries:

'Fuck… Ow!... Harder… Aw!... Fuck… Me…'

The priest was now holding my mother from the waist: he moved her up and down with greater intensity.

'Ah… ah… ah…' she was saying each time.

Then, she gave a long cry: 'Aaaaaaaah!'

She laughed then, and she stood up carefully.

He was still lying on the altar.

'I want to taste you,' the priest said. 'You know what to do.'

She laughed:

'My mouth is smaller than my pussy, you know.'

'I know you can't help yourself and want to fit it all in,' he replied in a joking tone.

I saw he was stroking his penis, which I glanced at trying to see its size.

I watch my mother carefully walk up to Father Briac's face and sit on it. Then she lowered her lips to take his penis in her mouth once again.

I could tell that Father Briac was licking between my mother's thighs, on the same part where he had placed his hands at the beginning of the night.

Now and then, my mother lifted her head, seemingly incapable of continuing her sucking and, liking what he was doing, needing to moan. Then, she took his penis in her mouth again.

Finally, I heard Father Briac give the same long cry that my mother had given before.

My mother disentangled herself and moved to lie next to the priest, resting her head on his chest. I saw she was massaging again between her thighs, as she hadn't finished what she was doing, but it didn't take long for her to moan again, a little more quietly.

'Ahhh!'

Then, I heard him laugh. It was a gentle, low laugh. And I heard her join him, laughing her silver-bell laugh along his.

'There was so much semen I nearly drowned. You came all the way down my throat,' she said.

I waited until they were both dressed again. Father Briac left from the door that led outside, while my mother left from the one she had come from.

I sat there for nearly an hour, thinking about what I had just seen, feeling like I had just had a glimpse into a new, wonderful world, which confused me but, even though I couldn't fully explain why, also attracted me.