Ron Taylor: Roped and raped

We spent that weekend making love after love after love. I didn't ask her if she was being faithful to me, because I respected her individuality and privacy. Besides, I'd been kicking it around occasionally with a couple of women I knew around Cambridge – not because I didn't love Angela any longer, but because I had to do something.

Neither of my part-time friends was very satisfactory, and that pleased me, because it made me pant and yearn all the harder for the day when I'd be with Angela all the time, instead of simply dreaming and wishing and longing. She'd called me long-distance to advise me of an upcoming history vacancy at Boonesfield, and I was hungering for that job with all my heart. Indeed, I took a masochistic pleasure in comparing the poor performances of my sometime lovers with Angela's splendid proficiency in the art of sex.

Men? Well, I had offers. Certainly more than I wanted, and I didn't want any.

And here we were now, Angela and me. Her body warm, soft, cradled against me, my snatch still wet from the honey she'd licked out of it I kissed her as she slept, moistening her lips with the taste of her own cunt, and she stirred fitfully.

"Mmmmmm… mmmmmm… darling Maaarrrkkkk…" I heard her say, and my eyebrows lifted. Mark? Had she really said that? Oh, of course not! It was only an inhalation, a little gasping which punctuated "Marilyn". Nothing else. I kissed her again, and she purred for me, and my hands covered her tiny tits, delighted beyond measure at the supple firmness, yet soft roundness as well, of her little tits. The nipples heated in my palms, and I wanted to wake her for another round of mutual cunt-lapping, but I had that interview at ten in the morning, and I wanted to be bright-eyed and chipper for it. I had best get back to sleep.

"Good night, my love," I whispered across her moist lips.

God, what a beautiful day this was! June just budding into life and the sky was as blue as a virgin's eyes, the grass vivid green, flowers blossomed a cascade of colors everywhere, and birds chirped in every tree. Angela was the only person I knew in this entire city, but I had such a happy smile on my face as I walked from the University administration building that strangers were nodding and telling me hello. Too many ex-convicts have trouble getting jobs in the straight world, which leaves them no choice but to return to crime for livelihood. Well, this ex-convict was due to start work as an instructor in history, come Fall, and she had no intention of contributing to any crime statistics as long as the government behaved itself.

"Oh, baby," I said aloud, and a couple of people turned to stare, "I can hardly wait to tell you!" A guy came out of the student union, got an eye-fix on my tits, and ran into a tree. I couldn't suppress a giggle. Let him look, I thought, because looking was the best he'd be able to do.

In a way it was too bad, though, for I'd almost gotten used to being cupped in a bra again, and his horny stare had reminded me that the garment was there, that it lifted my tits slightly and made them just a little more prominent, more noticeable. I wished I could just stop in my tracks, haul off my sweater, and strip away the damned uncomfortable thing, but the middle of campus wasn't the place for it. Ah, so! Angela could remove the no-longer-needed brassiere for me when I got back to her digs, and she could massage my skin with her sensitive fingers until the red strap marks were all soothed away, and then – well I was pretty sure she could come up with something to do then.

Maybe I should have called her from the Student Union. In retrospect that seems like a good idea, but I was too anxious to get back to her place and break the good news face to face. As a preliminary, of course, to getting mouth to cunt. I knew she'd be as happy as I was, because it meant we could be together again, and permanently. And I wanted to see her eyes light up when I told her that I had the job, that I had her, that I didn't need anything else at all.

Boonesfield isn't that large a city, but it's nearly as bitchy to get through as Boston. One-way streets, detours, mandatory turn-off lanes – I'd never been there before, and somehow I managed to get into the circular by-pass around town. I was like a squirrel on a treadmill, getting nowhere fast. But as I drove, instead of cursing and bitching, I let my memory feast on the way Angela and I had discovered loved behind the stone walls and steel bars.

God, she was hot for it from the very beginning!

"I never had an orgasm before," she confessed to me, lying in my arms after I'd given her one with my tongue and fingers. "Not even with myself. I always felt too guilty just touching myself down there, you know? Well, don't laugh! For the most of my life, the only thing I wanted to be was a nun!"

"What do you want now?" I asked teasingly, my fingers running through the hair she still kept very short.

"This," Angela replied firmly. She cupped my cunt in her hand. There was a surprising strength to her grip, and when she got her fist on me, I thought she was about to rip my pussy out.

"Oh, dear God," I moaned, thrusting my cunt into her clutch. "Oh dear, dear God – but is that all you're going to do?"

"Of course not," Angela giggled. That was when I really stopped thinking of her as a nun, because I couldn't imagine a nun with such a sexy, provocative giggle. But in a moment she announced her liberation in an even more thrilling manner. Her head moved down my belly, into my crotch, and her tongue found the damp, open crack of my cunt. From the moment her tongue flipped my clit, I was lost. Completely lost. I grabbed her head and slammed my cunt into her open, sucking mouth.

And we were no longer locked into a cell in a filthy, dreary prison. We were rolling in dew-damp grass, and a warm breeze blew through the meadow while the moon shone like silver beams on our bodies. It had to be the moon. The moon belongs to women. Stars twinkled in a blue-black heaven and they were far, far away, but if I'd wanted, I could have reached up and plucked them from the sky. The bars of our cell were melted away, and we were free, and there was nothing else in the universe except me and Angela and the night.

She was with me, in me, her tongue, her fingers, doing me as if she'd been eating pussy all her life, and I was coming a river onto her sweet sucking face and I never wanted her to take that mouth away from my cunt. Never, never, never! And before I knew it, I'd pulled her legs towards me, and my face was buried in her cunt, and we were doing a sixty-nine with me giving as good head as I received. My tongue stabbed again and again into Angela's fragrant honeysuckle snatch-hole, until she drowned me with her cum and I smacked my lips like a glutton, drinking her pussy-cream, sucking cunt till she gave me more.

It only got better as our confinement dragged on.

Oh, how could time drag, when I knew that each and every night of that prison term Angela and I could give glum, hard-timer looks to the guard-bitches who locked us in – and then, as soon as the cellblock lights went out, we'd be on each other, in each other, sucking cunt, kissing, fingering – learning for the first time what it was really all about. Everything important, at least. Life, love, passion. Did anything else matter when she was in my arms and I in hers?

"Mr. and Mrs. Bergman," they used to call us – all the old bull-dykes standing around with the trembling young chickens they'd dildoed into submission. As if they thought we had the same kind of relationship they did. Fat fucking chance! We were equals, Angela and I, and we were both completely aware that we were women. We didn't have to pretend by using imitation pricks on each other, and we didn't need to establish a domination/submission status. For ours wasn't the kind of situation that frustrated women turn to when they're locked away in prison. We were in love.