Mr Doubles Erotic Stories
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Mr. Double and other stories.
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An edition of Mr. Double and other stories
(1968)
Donate this book to the Internet Archive library.
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Beautiful high-fidelity digitization
Long-term archival preservation
Free controlled digital library access by the print-disabled and public †
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An edition of Mr. Double and other stories
(1968)
Classifications
Library of Congress
PZ4.W297 Mi,
PS3573.A783 Mi
The Physical Object
Pagination
174 p.
Number of pages
174
ID Numbers
Open Library
OL259591M
LC Control Number
he 68001909
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Imported from Scriblio
MARC record .
Aren't there gradations of evil? Is evil a great perilous gulf into which one falls with the first sin, plummeting to the depth?
September 12, 2018
xpanther2019@gmail.com
Copyright © 2020 STORIES BY XPANTHER — Escapade WordPress theme by GoDaddy
Feature Writer: Nomad
Feature Title: Little Orphan Sally
Copyright: (c) 2010, Nomad. ALL Rights Reserved Uploaded: Mr Double’s Palisade 27.02.2010 / This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites. Mr Double may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.
Story Codes: Pedo, NC, fisting, masturbation, WS, spanking / CP, incest, femdom, religious fervour, coercion, anal
Author’s Notes: Alice clutched at her head as her lower body cavorted up and down, legs unfolding to straighten and quiver as the mounting mammoth wave she had been surfing finally succeeded in tumbling over her. It carried her breathlessly along with it as it rolled and rolled within her, swirling and spinning, tossing her upon its dying flow until beaching her upon the low couch, spent and tranquil, Sally’s withdrawing fingers causing a last lurch of her loins and a ripple to her belly muscles.
Life in Our Saviour’s Orphanage was a drudgery; menial and repetitious. It was run by a group of nuns, and they ensured the children in their care were well mannered, obedient, and disciplined.
The children, aged from babes to fifteen, were uniformly dressed in plain grey uniforms, the boys strictly segregated from the girls. Punishments were frequent, quickly and severely given, delivered for the slightest of offences, often with malicious scrutiny. The children’s days were monotonously the same, with only Sunday mornings given over to worship and prayer. Otherwise, the children were expected to work, eat when told to, study, and sleep. If they weren’t busy between those four tasks, then they were given idle tasks, like counting pencils, sheets of paper, or beans, or otherwise punished for being lazy or negligent.
Most of the orphans had been there from birth, or soon after. Some arrived later, if their parents died and there was no other family for example, but they were rare and were always set apart. Those who had been there all their lives hated the newcomers for having enjoyed a life they could never know, and the newcomers kept away from the ‘lifers’ because they were different; hard as granite, cold and unloving.
The Nuns taught the children that their only pleasure was to be obtained from working or studying hard. The Lord blessed those individuals. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Games were for sinners; a distraction to work and study. Playing was frowned upon; it detracted from working and learning, therefore it came from the Devil.
What pleasures the children had, they were kept secret from the nuns. And the most common pleasure was a nocturnal activity which called for two or more to share a bed.
If they were found out, it would mean a beating, often in front of the whole orphanage. A doctor was also present to deliver smelling salts so the sinner would feel every one of the fifty lashes that were the normal award for such behaviour.
Hence not many dared defy the nuns.
But there was some, and Sally was one such child, one of four girls in St Agatha dormitory who, once lights were out and the large building had fallen silent, would creep from their beds to visit one of the younger girls, one too shy, too frightened, or too in love to stop them. Being compassionate, the nuns only beat the instigator; so many of the younger girls pleaded with their elder, dominant partners to make sure that any Nun coming upon them would know that they were reluctant partners, pressed into it.
For Sally, there was a terrible dark thrill to be had from creeping from her bed so late at night. It was as good, nearly, as coercing one of the younger girls into becoming her lover, teasing the child with soft kisses and loving hugs until the child consented to more devilish advances. Sally, hardly into her teens, was already well practiced in such coercion, teasing her until her young body craved for more, then further teasing, until she consented to do things to her mentor, things the Nuns taught were the Devil’s own work.
Just being out of bed would get her ten strokes of the martinet, a wicked length of leather the nuns kept at hand, just for such as she. But the nuns slept soundly most of the time, and so she and her similarly excited brethren would pass each other in the darkness, each of them using some method to lead them to the person they wanted.
Sally counted beds, letting her hand run lightly over each one until she reached the one she wanted. Other’s counted steps, or softly and daringly called out their lover’s name to wait for a softly answered guide.
Sally, having reached the bed she wanted, pulled off her nightgown, the only thing she wore, before drawing back the covers to slide within the bed. Clara silently made room for her, too nervous, ashamed and excited to do otherwise. She was barely eleven and Sally was a strapping thirteen year old, budding breasts and a little tuft of pubic hair testament to her puberty. She stood a foot taller than Clara, and she knew how to look after herself too, her nails groomed not so much for beauty, but to discourage any of the bigger girls from picking a fight on her.
Sally had long since learnt that size and strength weren’t the only factors important to winning a fight. The willingness to inflict pain and disfigurement were of far more value, and Sally had only had to prove it once, for other to take note and back away.
Clara whimpered as Sally slid her hands around her dainty waist, feeling her firm young flesh through the thick and starched cotton of her nightgown.
Sally, a frequent visitor to Clara’s bed, already knew she was slender and small, but getting to know her once again with her hands was always exciting, quickening her breath as she imagined her mouth, lips and tongue following her fingers, feeling, tasting and inhaling Clara’s young and barely developing body.
“We shouldn’t,” Clara murmured nervously, just as she often did as she felt Sally begin pulling her nightgown off. Her legs came together too, closing on her treasure in an effort to hide it from the older girl. As if that would stop her.
Sally chuckled, well aware of Clara’s coy little games. And yet she the young girl had a passionate streak within her.
Sally smiled in the darkness and, with the gown around Clara’s waist, slid herself astride of the girl’s thighs to finish pulling the gown urgently upwards and off, over her head, but to remain caught up in her slender arms, imprisoning them.
Clara’s legs were warm under Sally’s own, her belly flat, her chest small. With her arms stuck over her head in her rolled up gown, Sally was free to bring her hands down, over her trunk, then down the sink of her belly to the small and smooth hill of the younger girl’s pubis.
“Please, don’t” Clara whispered, trembling with the sudden touch against her sensitive pubis.
Someone giggled from the darkness and Sally grinned. “You know you like it,” she told the child beneath her, dropping her head so she could inhale the scent of her freshly washed hair, then stroke her cheek with her own before tasting the skin of her neck.
Sally’s hands rose again, taking their time to renew their friendship with Clara’s gentle curves, her smooth skin, the warmth that radiated from her, and the hardness of her body beneath her skin, harder here and there, softer elsewhere.
“We’ll get in trouble,” Clara whimpered, Sally’s finger making her squirm, her breath to quicken as it grew short and urgent..
Sally lifted a leg to bring her knee down against Clara’s tightly linked thighs, and pressed it downward until it sank between them, levering Clara’s to either side of her own, sufficiently parted for her hand to slip between and feel the warm soft skin of her inner thigh. “It’s worth it though, isn’t it?” she teased. She dropped her head and blindly found Clara’s mouth with her own. They kissed; or Sally kissed her, probing with her tongue until Clara’s lips reluctantly yielded to let Sally in.
“Please, Sally,” she begged, her breath washing over Sally’s face as their lips parted.
She smelt so lovely, Sally thought. Her free hand slid down the girl’s chest and felt her fluttering belly as she went towards her crotch again, her excitement building.
“What will you do for me if I don’t?” Sally asked softly, teasing her young lover.
Her finger traced the smooth line of flesh between Clara’s abdomen and her thighs, following the soft and tender skin towards Clara’s crotch and Sally’s other hand, knowing the rise of her vulva would interrupt the passage of her hands.
“Sally,” Clara whispered urgently, beginning to quiver.
“Tell me,” Sally urged, her hands nearing each other, slowing as they did so.
“It’s dirty!” Clara told Sally fiercely, stopping to gasp and jerk as the older girl’s fingers pressed against the outer curve of her vulva. “Don’t!” she begged once again.
Sally moaned instead, and heard moans from down the darkened dormitory, and giggles, and the movement of bedsprings, heavier breathing and little gasps. She moved her head down, lifting her bottom into the air as she searched for, and found, Clara’s tender little nipple.
Clara was only eleven, and still owned such small little teats; still those of a child, and yet so terribly sensitive. Sally knew this from experience and sucked until the younger girl gasped and arched, her arms struggling in the rolled up confines of her nightgown.
“You like it,” Sally accused her, lifting her mouth to pass a hand over Clara’s chest and small developing breasts to feel the engorged thimble of flesh and the warm wetness of her saliva.
“I don’t want to be thrashed,” Clara whimpered.
“Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?” Sally teased. She slid up to kiss Clara on the lips once more, stroking her face as their tongues played with one another’s, Sally’s body bending to press down on Clara’s.
“It’s dirty!” Clara panted, freed to talk again.
“Which do you want? Make up your mind,” Sally told her softly but urgently. She didn’t mind what her choice was, or told herself she didn’t. Waiting for a reply, she began moving down Clara’s trunk, as if her decision had been made, and watched the silhouette of her face in the small amount of moonlight coming through the nearby window, smiling at the agony on her face as she strove to make up her mind.
“Ok, ok!” she groaned. “I’ll do it.” Clara breathed.
Sally stopped her descent at the base of Clara’s breastbone, hands on her warm flanks and her lips on her smoothly descending skin. Her little pink treasure was just a little further down, its scent coming up to her from under the covers to hint at girlhood and excitement. But she had elected the other, and while her head felt disappointment, her body felt new exhilaration.
Clara was such a little pussycat; always worried the nuns would come in, always afraid they might judge her an equal partner, or an instigator in their little games. Yeah, Sally nearly 14, and she just eleven!
Sally had arrived at a solution and Clara, screwing her face up in disgust, had complied, driven by poor choice to select what she thought was gross, just to keep from being beaten.
Sally’s descent astride the slender young form of her lover reversed, and Sally drew her thighs further up Clara’s young trunk, legs spreading to pass over her, her little spread pussy sliding over the skin of the young girl’s warm her chest.
She met the top of the bed and used the headrest to help her straighten, her legs passing Clara’s shoulders.
Sally’s pussy hovered above Clara’s neck while she looked down to look at Clara’s half-dark face.
“Remember, no faking or I push you on top!” Sally whispered fiercely.
There were more giggles from down the dormitory, but mostly the sounds of panting and rhythmically moving bedsteads softly creaking to and fro while the moonlight made weird shape of the two bodies under the covers.
Sally gripped the top of the painted iron bed and slid her pelvis forward, bringing her crotch over Clara’s face and biting her lip as she felt her breath wash over the top of her thighs.
“Do it!” she urged, waiting tensely for that first timid touch. It came, a sudden and slight lick sending spiralling knives of pleasure shooting into her groin.
Sally groaned, hung her head, gripped the bed, and shook as she waited for the next timid touch.
It came, pressing that little bit more daringly against her slit, sliding that little bit further into the hollow of her pussy mouth.
“Come on!” she gasped, shaking with her need to have her little tongue explore her down there.
Clara’s head rose and, eyes closed, she licked at Sally’s open furrow, a slide that took her warm wet tongue from the very rear of her vaginal slot, all the way to the front, flicking out across the swollen bump of flesh at its helm.
Sally flung her
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