Roped and Raped

  Roped and Raped

  Ron Taylor

  Greenleaf BC-100804719

  January 1977

  CHAPTER ONE

  "And this is the bedroom," said Angela, doing a pirouette as she led me in.

  I went to her, put my hands on her waist, and buried my face in the angle of her neck. She tasted like fresh peaches and my lips clung to her skin. I felt her hands come clasp my shoulders with a passion, like mine, too long denied. "I thought we'd never get to the bedroom," I whispered.

  She stood up for me, straight and proud while I unbuttoned her blouse and opened it to reveal her conical braless tits. They were small, pointed in brown and beautiful, the points already standing out to me in greeting. I covered one with my mouth, sucked till I felt her heart throbbing behind the tender firm cushion of tit, and then I switched to her other nipple, sucking it as well to quivering, thrusting erection. She wrapped her hands around my head and pulled me to her willing tits, feeding me on their pale contoured curves and brown caps. There was a gentle aroma to her flesh, heavy in the vale between her dainty tits, and I filled my nose with that scent as I filled my mouth with her jugs.

  "Oh, don't stop!" she whispered, clutching me, and I didn't want to stop but I had to breathe, too, and reluctantly I forced my lips to abandon Angela's tits. I straightened up, helped her out of the blouse, and then my fingers flew to the waist-button of her skirt. It fell with a swish as I undid the button, and I ran my fingers up and down her smooth flanks, the cool chaste nylon of her white panties.

  "Your skin feels warmer each time I touch it," I said in a moist, breathy tone, my fingertips dancing across the cunt-filled crotch piece of her panties.

  "Then touch it," invited Angela. "Touch it again and again and again and – Oh, my God! Your hands, your hands, your hands!"

  My hands, my hands, my hands were inside her panties by then, one of them stroking her ass in sexy circles, the other closing its fist like a hot, tight vise on the puffy, hair-covered bulge of her pussy. My fingers dug at the clinging slice of her cunt-lips. I felt them yield moistly. My finger lunged inside, lying full-length along her warm, slick gash. The base of my knuckles rubbed Angela's clit, found it stiff and obvious, and she gave a whimpering groan, slumping heavily against me.

  "Bear up, Sister," I told her with a kiss. "We've only just begun!"

  I laid her on the bed, tickling her butt so she'd lift it and enable me to remove her panties. Her shoes clumped to the floor, and she was naked – totally naked, totally desirable, curling and stretching an invitation to me.

  "Come now," she gasped, her hands lifted towards me. "Come to me now!"

  I wanted her. It had been too long. Too, too long! Quickly I stepped back, peeled off my sweater, dropped my jeans, and kicked off my shoes. That left me naked, too – as naked as Angela, and God, twice as horny! I threw myself onto the bed, rocking it, rocking her, and she rolled into my embrace with a wet, open mouth that sought mine hungrily. My tongue fucked her mouth and she sucked eagerly, and our crotches squirmed into oozing, passionate contact.

  As we rolled and twisted, I slid my hand between her legs. They opened greedily, and her tight pussy swallowed the finger with which I tickled its wet lips. Into her pulsating snatch my finger darted, and each time I thrust deeply into her cunt, Angela went "Ohhhhhh!" into my kissing mouth. Her tits were very small but very hard, and their nipples scraped against me so hotly I thought – Jesus, I hoped – she'd set my flesh afire with the burning lust of her body.

  I opened my own legs and pulled one of her thighs into the spread. She was beginning to perspire, the way she always did when she was sexed up, and her moist slim thigh rubbed frantically on my pussy, until I felt my head swelling, my heart ready to burst, and my cunt coming alive with a million kinds of arousal. I squeezed that thigh with my legs and she was strong and supple and incessant against my snatch, and in a moment or two my cunt juice was joining her sweat to make that thigh even greasier, even slicker, even more erotic where it strummed up and down upon my puffy gash.

  "God, do it!" I cried, my fingers madly at work on Angela's pussy, one of them in her wet hole, the others squeezing and teasing the puffy, sex-swollen outer cunt-lips.

  Delicious! Ah, God, I could taste her cunt on my lips already, and I knew that soon I must have my face between Angela's legs, my tongue lapping at her slice. She was a deep, deep pink in cuntal coloration, and when her snatch gleamed with the secretions of her inner juices as it must be gleaming now, thanks to the invasions of my stabbing finger there could be no more beautiful sight in creation.

  She was wild and uncontrollable in my arms, her body hot and active in my embrace, and I wondered if she'd been anticipating this moment as much as I had. For days I'd thought of nothing else – only the delirious coming-together of me and Angela. But my dreams were nothing compared to the reality of it. The stimulating taste of her mouth, the erotic womanly fragrance of her body – they overwhelmed me as we writhed together on Angela's bed. They made me drunk with passion and desire and a frenzied, craving lust for her delights.

  I opened my eyes and saw that hers, soft and very brown, were fixed upon my face. Our mouths parted, my hands began to wander up and down her lean, hungry frame as if they didn't know where to begin, and I heard Angela whisper my name.

  "Marilyn, please do it for me."

  And I needed no further invitation. The sound of my name on her sweet, thin lips was like a battle cry, a trumpet to arms. I touched her tits and she lay down obediently, her knees lifting into the air, and I angled my head downward.

  My tongue lingered on her nipples, licking circles of love around the brown flowers of her tits, and then it was down her slim middle, into the patch of dark fluffy cunt hair that nestled between Angela's thighs. She was mousy brunette on top, and no matter how many times I suggested touching up the color, she only laughed. No matter. I loved her as much with mousy-brown hair as I would have if she'd been copper-red or platinum-blonde or even bald as Telly Savalas. But her cunt hair was rich, shimmering brown, very thick and curling across the white of her crotch, and I wished that I could run my fingers through that same lovely shade of hair on her head, too.

  Even more lovely was what lay beneath that thicket of rich brown fur. I could smell its honeysuckle goodness as I moved my face nearer; my finger in Angela's cunt-hole had stimulated a tangy hot flow of juices which was already making beads of moisture glisten on her beaver. I wanted to slither my tongue into that sweet pit and lick up all her savory twat-cream, then lap her steaming gash into drenching me with another flow just as sweet, just as tangy, just as addictive.

  "Yes, Marilyn," she warbled, "use your tongue. Lick me. Lick my pussy inside out. No one – no one does it the way you do!"

  I pawed the lips of her cunt, parting the pussy fuzz to lay bare the delicious slice itself, and for a moment I stared at the dripping pink of her open cunt. The mouth of Angela's hole quivered and pulsated with expectations even before I thrust my tongue into it, and my own mouth was awash with frothy saliva. It was wonderful to stare at her cunt, to torture myself thrillingly with the withheld pleasure of tasting it. But when my tongue dared at last to slip into Angela's slit and my mouth inhaled the scent and flavor of her pussy – well, there was a throb of response in my own cunt and I broke into a shivering fit.

  "There, Marilyn, there!" she called, reaching for my cunt as she spoke.

  Her hands slipped into my crotch and, while one of them stroked up and down my inner thighs, the other made just like Little Jack Horner. Angela thrust up one thumb, ground its tip against my cunt, and gradually worked it into a sopping, itching hole that was more than ready to take her on.

  She thumb-fucked me, and the sensation was simultaneously soothing and
incredibly erotic.

  I threw back my head, sucking in breath even as I exhaled it in a deep, soulful moan, and then I was upon her, splitting Angela's cunt wide with my fingers, driving my hungry mouth into the gap I had made.

  I licked her swollen gash, I drank honey-cum from it, I thrust my tongue into her twitching hole, teasing, digging, penetrating deeply between the walls of her tight, loving cunt.

  Angela's clit was large and obvious, and I had only to jiggle around its base with the tip of my tongue to get a moaning, whimpering response from my friend. Her bud stood up, gleaming with cunt juices. Occasionally I cleansed it with the flat of my tongue, but that was a dangerous pastime, for Angela was quite clit-sensitive and even a flickering touch sent her into spasms and convulsions, her thighs coming up to grip at my head, her thumb going crazy inside my own pussy.

  Angela was a small whisper of a woman – barely five feet tall, weighing not more than a hundred pounds or so – but it was all I could do to control her as she began to thrash about and shudder with an oncoming orgasm.

  The bed rolled beneath us, and I felt a little twinge of seasickness flutter through my head. It was a lovely, swimming sensation, and I relished it as much as my tongue relished the ever-more delicious seeping of wetness from Angela's cunt. And her thumb was diddling my twat like crazy, jabbing, thrusting, fucking me silly, so that I had little choice except to tighten the grip of my legs on her hand and prevent her from ever taking out that sweet fucking thumb.

  Up and down her pink slit I raced with my tongue, absorbing the cunt-cream that flowed from her hole more and more heavily. My tongue squished through the stuff, into her hole, across it, a jiggle and a bump at the base of her clitty, then back down her swollen slit and into her hole again!

  "MarilynMarilynMarilynMarilyn!" she cried, running her words all together, but the word was the same and I liked the way she spoke it, then as always.

  The undulations of her thighs alternately enfolded and deserted me, as Angela raised and lowered her legs around my head, but I kept on munching at her gash, my tongue flying as I raced to bring her off. There was nothing wrong with the way she was thumbing my cunt, but I wanted more – I wanted my pussy planted atop her face and her own frisky little tongue romping in the playground the way I frolicked in hers. I tried to hold her down, but it was like wrestling an angry wolf. Angela wanted to buck and I could only hang on while she did.

  My eyes flitted around the room as I dipped again and again into her juicing honey-pot. Like the rest of her digs, the bedroom was sparsely furnished. I suppose she'd gotten into the habit of living with only the barest essentials, what with her background. Of course, if the University saw fit to hire me for the teaching post I'd come to see about, I'd be moving in with Angela, of course and I'd see what I could do about brightening up the place.

  For the moment, I was more concerned with her interior than her decoration. My tongue speared into her wet, sucking hole and I felt her cunt muscles contract like the jaws of a vise. It was all I could do to stab farther, through the rippling web of tissue, and it was nearly more than I could handle to get my tongue out of her cunt-hole at all.

  Angela screamed, her legs stiffening, and I clasped her thighs to soothe away any uneasiness she might have had. Her skin vibrated beneath my touch, nearly as much as her clit base vibrated when my tongue snapped at it eagerly.

  "Ahhhhhh!" she cried as my finger stabbed into her tight cunt-hole in perfect harmony with my tongue-passes around the rim or her clit.

  I thrust into her wet, churning depths and I pressed firmly against her, my hand grinding on her twat-mound. Her cunt erupted like a volcano around me and my fist was covered with Angela's stickiest, wettest juices. I'd screwed around with a couple of women since my last time with Angela, but they'd only been substitutes. This was the real thing and I wondered how I could have lasted a year without her.

  "Come, Angela! Come!" I changed as I fucked her with my middle finger and blew whooshes of warm breath across her glistening trigger.

  She writhed, she moaned, ahhhs and oooooohhhs bursting from her fluttering lips, and there was an oily sheen of cum across the pink mouth of Angela's pussy. I scooped up some of her juice with my tongue, relished it, and then, before she'd quite come out of her own orgasmic tremors, I mounted her face, thrusting my cunt down on her whimpering mouth.

  "Now me! Now suck my cunt!" I implored her, my ass twitching to a rock 'n' roll beat, my labes twittering atop her fluttery lips.

  She was still puffing and sighing with her own climax, and the effect was pure magic. Her mouth tickled my cunt, and I giggled, settling down a little more intently. My puffy split did precisely that as it flattened down on Angela's face, and she stabbed up into my gash with excited wiggles and jiggles that opened my eyes as well as my snatch.

  "Yes, lick me! Get your tongue into my hole, Sister!" I cried, rocking my cunt across her willing face.

  She was wet-mouthed with desire, and my twat was dripping hot, sweet juices – at least, she always told me they were hot and sweet – into her mouth as she licked. Angela opened wider, her teeth grinding into the flesh of my cunt, and she sucked like a fucking vacuum, as if she meant to pull my twat inside out.

  "Ahhhhhhh!" I cried deliriously, and I shoved harder with my puss.

  It was no frisky little pussy now, either. I had a fierce, hungry tiger-cat between my legs, and it wanted to eat Angela's entire head out of gratitude for the splendid sucking she was dishing in my direction. And then she started to hum.

  Just a soft, muted, but incredibly prolonged "mmmmmmmmm!" into the flesh of my hot box, making it hotter, hotter, hotter!

  My clit was hammering like a drum, and she knew that I loved to have it nibbled and sucked.

  Mine wasn't quite so delicate a bud as hers, but it was definitely on a hair-trigger today. She pulled it in her lips.

  I felt my clit swell like a busted thumb and then I was coming, too, showering Angela's face with the abundant juices of my orgasm. Her tongue squished and sloshed through the sexy wetness; penetrated my spasming hole like a beautiful, sensual snake, weaving through the contractions of my cunt. It withdrew somehow, in time to tickle the very tip of my clitty with such a skillful technique that I was coming all over again, and this time I couldn't seem to stop.

  "Love me, love me, love me!" I whined, and I buried her trapped face beneath my sopping pussy and, though I could hear Angela call out in soft, understated protest, I couldn't bear to raise my cunt, to let her breathe. I wanted her to drink my essence, to love me, to remember how good it had been for us before, how good it was going to be again, very soon.

  "Oh, too much," I said finally, lying beside her. My arm was around her body, fingers making a cup over one small, warm tit. She cuddled closer, lying like a child against me, and her hands strayed up and down my body – not with invitations to an immediate return bout, of course – merely to remind me that she was here, close, that she loved me and cherished me, as I did her.

  "Does it mean that much to you, Marilyn?" she asked, and I wondered what she meant. Of course it did! How much proof did she need?

  "Don't talk. Just be close, be warm, be here," I told her, my finger sealing her ups with a gentle press. In another second, my mouth had underscored the fingers' touch and we were kissing and hugging. If I hadn't been so tired from the day's long drive, I'd have thrown her and blown her just one more sweet, sweet time but the sun had gone down while we were making passionate reunion love and I was so knocked out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  My name is Marilyn Bergman and I am twenty-nine years old, which seems a little mature to be head over tumbling heels in love, particularly with another woman; but if you've never tried it, don't knock it.

  I'm tall and dark with a good figure, and people still tell me I look Jewish – Daliah Lavi is the person I'm most often compared to, though I think I look a little more like a younger Jean Simmons. My hair is very dark and thick, and I let it flow down my shoulder
s, onto the curves of my tits. I used to take a lot of pains setting and straightening it, but not any more. It's my hair and it feels good to set it free. My eyes are black and noticeable, my lips full and pink by nature, and I have a strong, firm nose and chin. I was born in Maryland and I'm a Ph.D. in history. I was also very much in love with Angela Scopish and I didn't give a Goddamn who knew it.

  I've known her for several years. We were arrested together, in 1969. I'm not ashamed to say that, because it was in a good cause. We were both activists and got nabbed during a raid on a draft-information storehouse. One of our companions was a pig for the FBI. She alerted the Feds and we were all caught in the act. I was a senior in college then, and Angela – well, Angela was a nun.

  We were tried and sentenced in that wonderful year 1970, but neither of us went to jail immediately. Appeals, postponements, all that shit. It was late in 1973 when we both reported to the federal penitentiary to spend our prescribed stir. I'd finished my B.A., my M.A., and most of the work for my doctorate by them, and Angela was on the verge of leaving her order.

  It was a great time to be going to prison for war-related offenses. According to the White House, the war was virtually over. LBJ was gone to his final reward; Agnew had been run out of office on a rail, and Nixon was in such terrible shape after Watergate that it was only a matter of time for him as well.

  And we didn't get hustled off to any of your cherry, minimum-security, country-club prisons, either. No, those were all filled with politicians and Nixon aides. Angela and I found ourselves assigned to maximum security, the real Big House. I suppose it was to teach us a lesson. A leggy Jewish intellectual and a radical nun cast among the female murderers and heroin addicts and all the other fem violators of federal statutes.

  In spite of the maximum security horse shit, the inmates were firmly in charge of the penitentiary, the way they are in every slammer. Our warden was a political appointee who usually found same warden's conference to attend so she could get the hell away from good old Greystone, and the guards were all for sale.