During the week Suja and Tuti were like ghosts, I occasionally heard them but rarely saw them. When I did see them they seemed very happy. Suja was continually thanking me and Tuti happily chattered to her dolly.
On Thursday morning I had to return home having left some papers there. As I got to the front door I could here my TV playing inside. I opened the door slowly. The door opens straight into the lounge, dinning area to the right, kitchen and maid's quarters beyond that. As I entered I could see cartoons playing on the TV which is the other side of the sofa. I quietly entered and as I got closer to the back of the sofa a little head started to appear. She hadn't heard me. It was Tuti, she had her dolly in one arm, a chocolate bar in the other hand and swinging here legs, she was happily singing along to the cartoons. As I came around the side of the sofa, she saw me, her chin dropped and she gasped. She dropped the chocolate bar and attempted to run past me. I grabbed her arm, arresting her escape. The colour has drained from her lowered face to a deathly white highlighting guilty evidence staining her lips.
"Tuti what are you doing?" I asked. "I'm sorry Mr Eddie, please don't tell my mommy," she pleaded. She was wearing the same oversized 'T' shirt. Obviously someone's cast off. It probably started life white. It had a print of some politician on the back. It had been washed so many times that it was now a dirty grey colour. It was many sizes too big, the short sleeves reach past her elbows and the length came halfway down her thighs. The neck was so wide it dangled off her shoulder on one side. From my vantage point looking down on her I had a good view down the front neck opening of the shirt to her tits. They were proper tits, not full size but well past the developing walnut size. They were an unusual shape, conical, like the nipple had suddenly shot directly forwards dragging her chest behind to form a pointed cone. Remaining tightly hold of her arm, I sat on the sofa with her in front of me.
Holding the chocolate bar to her face, "Tuti, where did this come from?" I asked. She started to cry. "Tuti did you take this chocolate bar from my kitchen?" I asked sternly. I released her arm to enable her to wipe away the tears which were rolling down her face. "Did you steal my chocolate bar?" I said sternly. With her hands covering her sobbing eyes, her shirt lifted sufficient to expose the crotch of her panties. Again, at one time these had been white but after so many washes they were also grey. Her eyes were closed tight like she was attempting to keep the tears inside, her hands rubbed her eyes whilst she sobbed. Placing a hand either side of her waist I said, "Tuti! Answer me! Did you get this chocolate bar from my kitchen?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Eddie, please don't tell my mommy!" she said through her tears. It was difficult for me to concentrate on the questions as my focus was drawn to her crotch. I worked my hands holding her waist so as to raise her dress a little more exposing more of her panties. They were not only grey, all the life had been washed from them making them limp and they were full of holes. Through the holes and the thinness of the material I could see hints of a soft downy fluff covering her little box. The material was so washed out and loose that the crotch hung low exposing the sides of her puffy little cunnie. I could almost taste it!
"Tuti," I said, "It's not your mother you should worry about, it's the police, if I call the police you will go to prison!"
That drove her to almost uncontrollable crying. "Please, please, please Mr Eddie, I'm sorry." "And Tuti," I added, "Your mother must be told because you can no longer live in my house."
Her eyes open and focused on me as the realisation flooded over her. Her world had come to an end, she would be in prison and her mother would be on the streets. She closed them again the let out a wail of woe and flood of tears.
As she was contemplating the consequences of her actions I was fast realising the opportunities and possibilities before me. After years of meticulous planning to get inside Amy's knickers with pathetic results, I was now suddenly in a command position without a plan. My head was spinning with the possibilities and at the same time, trying to calculate the consequences. What can I get out this, what do I want and how do I achieve it. I needed time to think. Bringing my hands around her little buttocks, I cupped them tight and drew her to me slightly, "Tuti, stop crying," I commanded, "what time is your mother due back here?"
"About eight o'clock sir," she replied. I was thinking fast - if I fuck her right now and she tells her mum what will happen. Her mum must consider that If she goes to the police I would deny it and it's my word against hers and she'll be out of a job and a home. Still she might be angry enough to do it - right fucking is out. If I have her blow me what would she do. There'd be less chance of forensic evidence. How about if I blew her. It's less like to enrage her mother and there'd be no forensic evidence. I could offer to pay her mother off. A couple of hundred would set her up in a place of her own and keep them both for months. If Tuti was to tell her mother, she'd have to tell about the chocolate bar, and she'd expect to be homeless. And to add in the unknown factor, Tuti had the mind of a seven year old. How does a seven or eight year old think? And, culturally, women here don't face up against men, they are subservient to all men and particularly to men in authority.
In those seconds I concluded that so long as I didn't go too far there was a reasonable chance Tuti would keep quiet and a reasonable chance that if she didn't I could keep the lid on her mother one way or another. Cupping her soft buttocks I drew my fingers into her cheeks to feel the softness and to draw her forward slightly to come between my open legs. "Tuti, stop crying," I said. "I'm not going to call the police and I won't tell your mommy about the chocolate bar. And I will let you and your mommy stay here but only if you do something for me," I said.
She stopped crying but the trauma had left her with hiccups. "Thank you, Mr. Eddie," she said "I'm so sorry! I promise I won't take your chocolate bars ever again. I promise I'll be a good girl. I promise, I promise," she said hiccupping.
As she babbled away, I decided to test her willingness to submit by feeling the cheeks of her bare bottom. I dropped my hands down and up under the back of her shirt and slipped them under the flapping sides of her very loose panties and gently stroke her bare buttocks. She looked at me with a question mark on her face but no other reaction.
Her bottom was sooooo soft. "If I do all these things for you Tuti, you must do something for me," I asserted. "What must I do Mr. Eddie?" she asked. "Well Tuti," I explained, "you know that Mrs. Eddie is in England, I don't have any mommy or little girl to love me. I need to have a special friend. I need a pretty little girl who can take my mommy's place and be my secret special friend. You're a pretty girl. I'd like you to be my secret special friend...would you like to my secret special friend?" I asked.
"Yes sir," she said without knowing what the job entailed. I held my arms open and I pulled her onto my lap. Sitting on my left knee with her legs dangling between mine she wrapped her arms around me. I held her with my left arm under hers with my hand a the side of her chest, fingers resting on the side of her left tit. Her head resting on my chest I reminded myself that there was an eight year old brain in that twelve year old head. I stroked her face whilst lowering my head to smell her hair. It was pure little girl smell, no hint of soap or shampoo just her natural scent.
Putting a finger under her chin I raised her face to have her big brown eyes meet mine. "Of course, being secret special friends means I won't tell anybody about your stealing. I'll keep it a secret from your mommy, and I won't tell anybody any of our secrets and nobody will know we are special friends. You must not tell anybody not even your mommy that we are secret special friends because if your mommy finds out I won't be able to let you stay here. Do you understand Tuti?" I asked. "Yes sir," she replied. "Do you still want to be my special friend?" I asked. "Yes sir," she replied. "Do you still want to love me?" I asked. "Yes sir," she replied.
"Show me how much you wan to love me," I said. She squeezed me tightly with her arms and forces the side of her face into my chest. Delicately stroking the side of her tit over her shirt. "That's nice Tuti" I said, "but I need a more loving than just a squeeze. How do you show someone that you really love them?" I asked. She put a finger on her lip. What was going trough her head? I wondered. "How do mommies and daddies show each other they love each other?" I asked. "They kiss," she said. "I want us to love each other like mommies and daddies," I said. "Do you want to love me like a mommies and daddies?" I asked. "Yes Mr. Eddie" she replied.
"Show me then Tuti," I commanded. Turing her head up to me she closed her eyes and shyly kissed my lips with a little girl kiss. "That's nice Tuti," I said, "I am sure I'm going to love you so much and you're going to be my very best special friend, but I have no mommy here and I need more than kisses, I need that extra special love that mommies and daddies have. Can you give me that extra special love?" I asked. Looking into my eyes with her finger in her mouths she nodded her head. I smiled at her reassuringly. "Do you know what that extra special love is Tuti?" I asked. "No sir," she replied. "Have you seen your mommy and daddy loving each other?" I asked. "I don't have a daddy but have seen mommy and Adi," she said. "Who's Adi?" I asked. "Adi is mommy's boyfriend in our village," she replied. "What do they do Tuti?" I asked. "They do sex stuff," she replied. "What kind of sex stuff do they do?" I asked her. "Mommy puts Adi's thing between her legs and sometimes in her mouth. I pretend to be asleep," she said, "but they wake me up making noises." "What's Adi's thing?" I asked. "That thing in there," she said pointing at my crotch. "That's a good girl Tuti," I told her and taking her head in my hands I put my lips on hers and I kissed her.
Pulling back, I Iooked at her and smiled; she smiled back. Her big brown eyes were now dry but still puffy, her soft lips were pink and full. Stroking her cheek and kissing her again I noted that she was kissing back. "Tuti, I need you to do something to prove to me that you're can be my secret special friend and that you are brave enough. I want you to know that whilst you're my secret special friend I will never hurt you and always love you but you need to be brave and do something to prove you love me, will you do that for me?" I asked. "Yes Mr. Edward," she replied. "I want us to do some of the extra special things like mommy and Adi do. Can we do that Tuti?" I asked. "Yes sir," she replied. "Tuti, you know that thing you pointed to before, between my legs? I want you to put your hands inside my pants and I want you to squeeze my thing as tight as you can. Will you do that for me, Tuti?" I asked. Looking down at my crotch she nodded her head. "That's a good girl," I said. "Don't be afraid, just slide your hands inside and squeeze tightly."
I unbuckled my belt and lower my zip to expose my underpants and the huge bulge beneath. I took her hand and placed it at the top of my underpants and watched as she slowly slid her small hand beneath. As her fingers touched the tip of my knob an electric shock ran through my body and perhaps her hand as her hand jumped back an inch before tentatively returning to gently touch my hot meat.
"That's a good girl," I said. "Take hold of him and give him a big squeeze so he knows you love him." She slid her hand down and around my shaft and she squeezed tightly.
"That's a good girl," I told her. "Squeeze him and let go and squeeze him again, like this," I told her whilst showing her, my fist making a pumping action. My dick was throbbing, and the action of her pumping it just accentuated it, as she squeezes off the blood supply and then released it to rush up my shaft and expand my bell end. By now a largish damp spot has formed on my underpants as the pre-cum oozes out.
Stroking and smelling her hair, I looked down on her head which was looking down at her hand moving under my underpants and I wondered what she was thinking. Does she know what she's doing? At a mental age of eight she could still be a 'concrete thinker' and consequently what she cannot see does not exist. Like an ostrich burying it's head in the sand believing that if it can't see the lion, the lion can't see the ostrich. It's difficult to know what someone at that stage of mental development understands. Either way I was sure, it was a good idea not to start waving my dicks at her for the moment.
"That's sooooo nice Tuti! You're such a good girl I can see I am going to have to buy you a little gift. Would you like that?" I asked. "Yes please, Mr Edward," she said looking up at me and smiling with those big brown eyes and full lips. "Don't stop squeezing," I told her as she was momentarily distracted thinking about what I might buy for her. "Mr Edward you've peed your pants!" she said. "No Tuti," I told her, "That's not pee, that's love juice". "It comes out of the end of a man's widgy when he loves somebody". "The more he loves somebody the more love juice he makes, keep squeezing him and see how much juice you can make," I told her.
Now it was time to distract her before I came in my pants, I told myself. "Tuti, you've made me very happy and now I want to prove I love you by putting my hand in your pants. Would you like that Tuti?" I asked. "OK," she said sounding a little unsure. I lifted her shirt to expose her shabby hole-riddled panties. Through the holes I can see some fuzz. The panties were so baggy that I was unable to make out any definition of shape to her cunt. Careful not to startle her, I carefully slid my hand down the front of her panties. My finger tips instantly sending details to my brain of what they found. It was quite pronounced, not fat but pronounced. Pressing my finger slightly I tested the depth of flesh and it was just a little puffy, I reached the top of her slit and felt the start of her downy fuzz and an increase in heat.
Pausing to see if there is any signs of distress, I continued running my middle finger down her slit, my finger quickly coming in contact with her clit. It was the size of a big pimple. As I gently caressed her clit I felt her body tense and her hand squeeze my dick even harder as she experienced a new sensation. Circling and stroking her clit I felt her body wriggle slightly, she was moving her bottom and squeezes her legs together trying to understand this new feeling.
Continuing down my middle finger parted her slit like a plough through a field. With both sides of her slit either side of my finger I delighted in the heat and sticky wetness. Finally I arrived at the her hole. I tested her sensitivity ever so carefully by tapping my finger at the entrance. I wonder what she was feeling, certainly something was happening as I felt her producing more lubricant. I bent my finger at the knuckle joint bringing my digit inside her little love hole. She jumped.
"Are you OK?" I asked her. "Did I hurt you?" "No," she said. "It doesn't hurt." "What does it feel like?" I asked her. "It feels strange, it's tickly," she said. "Tuti can I have a look at your widgy?" I asked. "It feels so soft and nice, I'll bet it's sooooo pretty, I would love to see it." "OK," she said. I picked her up and kissing her lips, I smiled at her and she smiled back. "Sit back on the sofa," I told her. She sat back and I got up and knelt on the floor in front of her. I raised her shirt and taking the sides of her panties I gently pulled them down. As they folded down a wet patch was exposed at her crotch. "Mr. Edward, I've wet myself," she said. "No you haven't,' I explained, "that's your love juice. Remember I explained that my widgy produced love juice when he was stroked by someone he loved? Well your widgy also produces love juice when she's stroked by someone whom she loves. That's your love juice proving you love me."
Reassured, she smiled and lay back. I focused on her beautiful 12 year old cunt. It had all the freshness and beauty of innocent youth coupled with the to produce pleasure for us both. Her pubic hair was sparse, just turning from fuzz to real hair, a few strand folding inwards at the top of her slit. Her stomach was as flat as a billiard table and rose slightly over her pubic bone to produce a small mound, her lips are parted slightly and her inner lips protrude through just slightly. I inhaled a nose-full of twelve year old girl smell as her juices evaporated and rose into my nostrils. The smell of virgin juice, juice stored for twelve years, juice that is full of metamorphic hormones, juice that has been bottled up waiting to flow since she started puberty.
The brain in my head was trying to savour the sight and smells, whilst fighting off messages from the brain in my dick. Dick brain is trying to convince me that I release the pressure in my balls by emptying the contents in her womb. Head brain is telling me to take it slowly, to nurture and cultivate her over time and explore all her options. Her eyes darted from my face to her cunt as if she tried to work out what it is that had mesmerised me.
She held her shirt up past her navel seemingly not exactly sure which part of her anatomy is of most interest to me. I decided I wanted to see her tits. Taking hold of her hands I smiled at her and gave her hands a little jerk upwards. She smiled back and obviously understanding the prompt she raised her shirt over her tits to allow me full view. THEY WERE GORGEOUS! Perfectly conical, jutting straight forward to a point flattened off only slightly by her nipple. The areola was mid brown against the beige colour of her skin. The areola extends around her nipple giving it a 1 ½" diameter, the whole tit jutted forward about 3" maybe 3 ½".
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Tuesday, July 25, 2006