Mal dropped the shopping bags onto her hotel room bed. The clothing inside didn't fit but she'd need it soon enough. Stripping to her underwear, the young (in appearance) woman stepped in front of the full length mirror and spoke the words.
The woman born as Mafket, a princess of Egypt, had changed her outward age countless times over the centuries. It was useful as a temporary disguise or to reset her identity. She chuckled as she recounted one of the times she set her age to the one she would do today.
Convinced the woman who had lived to be over a hundred in fifteenth-century Seville must be a witch, the Church had sent inquisitors to get the old crone's confession of serving Satan before she met her reward in the holy flames of repentance. But there was no wizened consort of the Devil when they arrived; merely a young girl whose dark eyes fairly glowed with pious devotion as she explained that she was merely cleaning the rooms for her uncle, the proprietor, after the previous occupant suddenly left. The poor child was aghast that she was standing in a place where communion with the Unholy One had taken place but the priests assured her that she would be safe as long as she obeyed the teachings of the Church.
After the others left, one inquisitor remained behind counsel the girl to help preserve her soul against the forces of evil that were everywhere. Playing the role of the innocent, Mafket took communion on her knees, pulling at the chalice with her mouth until the salty white "wine" spurted into her mouth. The chalice then became the communion host as it was inserted in another place.
Mafket was bent over with her dress hiked to her slim hips. The soft, smooth lips of her cunny were visible but the priest was more interested in the entry between her trim ass cheeks. He was, she noted, quite good at this and she wondered how many choir boys had been used for practice before today. She could feel her juices leaking from her young snatch by the time the man came and planted his seed in the bowels of thy eleven year-old. After uttering a heartfelt "Hail Mary", he withdrew and left the girl to her cleaning while her body retained the warm glow of salvation in her belly and guts.
With her eyes glued to her image in the mirror, Mal worked her spell, reversing her age. She pushed her bra straps from her shoulders and when her small adult breasts were diminished to the modest swells of nascent pubescence, the garment dropped away to her waist to display the now girlish chest.
Mal felt the naughty, heated twist in her loins as her barely blossoming attributes were revealed. She unhooked the bra to let it fall to the floor and then addressed her panties. They were now loose around her narrower hips and it only took a slight push to send them cluttering down her legs. As she absently caressed her upper lip with her tongue, Mal took in her younger pussy.
Through ointments, she had kept herself smooth there for ages. But in her present state, the hairlessness was natural. The lips we pressed more closely together and held traces of childish roundness that her more adult, trimmer sex lacked.
Reaching with one hand, she fondled one tiny breast, surprised as as always was at how tender the bud was. The nipple was milk chocolate in hue atop the olive skinned mound and crinkled to hardness as soon as her thumb brushed over it.
Her other hand reached between her legs; a finger finding a trace of moistness already present just inside the bald slit. After a few strokes, the dampness was thicker in presence and the finger plunged deeper.
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
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Changes last made on: Monday, June 25, 2018