Ravaged - Ofelia Garza - E-Book

Ravaged E-Book

Ofelia Garza

4,49 €


A trip to Mexico, turns into a nightmare when a family is kidnapped by Bandits!

Carolyn heard her parents come home from University President Jefferson’s party shortly after two a.m. and tried not to listen as the familiar argument started once again.

“John, please... not tonight. I’m worn out,” her mother’s voice came distinctly, even though there were two rooms separating Carolyn’s bedroom and her parents.

“Not tonight... not last night... not tomorrow night... not any night, if you have your say.” John Dunn’s deep baritone was bitter.

“I’ve given you my permission to turn elsewhere.”

“Big deal, as my students say. Big deal! Well, I’m not interested in other women. I want you… Her honor, Superior Court Judge Margaret Dunn... my wife.”

Carolyn heard her mother’s sigh of resignation. “All right, then. But do hurry. I’m tired, and I have a full calendar of cases tomorrow.”

The bed creaked as weight shifted, then there was the sound of a low groan from her mother as naked flesh slapping against naked flesh began.

Carolyn tried to shut out the lewd wet sounds of intercourse, but it was impossible; she could have heard them in her mind even if she covered her ears with her hands.

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by Ofelia Garza

Published by Ofelia Garza at Lot’s Cave

Ravaged, © 2021, Ofelia Garza

Cover by Ofelia Garza

All Rights Reserved

All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Lot’s Cave Novel



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11



Author’s Note

Incest Erotica

Family Exotica

Other Novels

Chapter 1

Carolyn heard her parents come home from University President Jefferson’s party shortly after two a.m. and tried not to listen as the familiar argument started once again.

“John, please… not tonight. I’m worn out,” her mother’s voice came distinctly, even though there were two rooms separating Carolyn’s bedroom and her parents.

“Not tonight… not last night… not tomorrow night… not any night, if you have your say.” John Dunn’s deep baritone was bitter.

“I’ve given you my permission to turn elsewhere.”

“Big deal, as my students say. Big deal! Well, I’m not interested in other women. I want you… Her honor, Superior Court Judge Margaret Dunn… my wife.”

Carolyn heard her mother’s sigh of resignation. “All right, then. But do hurry. I’m tired, and I have a full calendar of cases tomorrow.”

The bed creaked as weight shifted, then there was the sound of a low groan from her mother as naked flesh slapping against naked flesh began.

Carolyn tried to shut out the lewd wet sounds of intercourse, but it was impossible; she could have heard them in her mind even if she covered her ears with her hands.

What was wrong with them, she wondered? Her father, Mid-State University professor John Dunn, was only thirty-eight. He wasn’t stupid; on the contrary, he was considered one of the nation’s top marine biologists. Yet he acted as if he knew absolutely nothing about pleasing a woman. He certainly had all the right equipment, Carolyn thought, remembering again that warm night last summer when she had been awakened by a strange noise from the swimming pool and, going to the window, had seen her nude father stepping like some god of the sea out of the swimming pool and padding across the lawn. Oh yes, he had the equipment all right… and the sight of his huge masculine cock shining in the full moonlight had brought a pounding flush of forbidden excitement to the young girl.

As for Mother! With that ripe, lush figure - almost the same shape, coloring, and features as Sophia Loren - she just couldn’t possibly be frigid; yet, the 36-year-old judge had been rejecting sexual advances from her husband from as far back as Carolyn could remember. There was another reason why it was difficult to believe her mother was-cold and unfeeling, because Carolyn knew that she, herself, wasn’t; she was a passionate young girl and had known it long before Charlie Webb’s fingers, lips, and tongue had brought a pulsating life and warmth to her breasts and pussy.

Since meeting the tall, blonde, athletic Charlie for the first time two and a half months before, the two young people had gone just as far as they could go without going all the way. First it had been necking - kissing that graduated from simple kisses to long, drawn out French kisses with tongues swirling like maddened dervishes as lips sucked hungrily, wantonly at each other’s mouths. Then had come the first awkward fumblings at her breasts, followed three dates later by the removal of her bra and subsequently his hot hungry lips fastened like a leech to her strainingly aroused nipples. At first, she had fought the attempt to caress her dampened little cunt slit through her nylon panties. After two more dates, she finally gave in to her own sensations and let him do what he willed - as long as he did not attempt to remove her panties. Then, a few nights later, it was she, herself, who had taken off the skimpy nylon cloth covering her feverishly excited vaginal cleft. She had done it in a service station restroom, without telling Charlie, as they returned from a basketball game. She knew he would be surprised, but of the two of them, she was the one who probably was most surprised because of the intensity of the feeling. She had thought her body could not possibly experience more sensation than it already had, but when his middle finger had made the first searing wet contact with her pussy lips she had let out a low moan of immediate surrender and fell back helplessly against the seat. Charlie had finger-fucked her to orgasm within two minutes; her first orgasm and one that had left her weak, shaken with emotion, and uncertain.

The following night he had done it again, and then after an hour had done it once more. There was a difference this time, however; Carolyn had sought to repay him in some way and had caressed his cock through his Levis. Finding this unsatisfactory, she had clumsily unzipped his pants and timidly reached inside his trousers. The first contact between her fingers and the hard throbbing shaft between his legs had been akin to an electrical shock. Just holding it, not knowing exactly what to do, had increased her own sensations ten-fold. Charlie had soon shown her what to do and how to do it… and his throbbing cock became a jerking, wildly ejaculating, living thing under her fingers.

That had been two weeks ago. Since that time, like a dope addict needing a stronger “fix,” Carolyn had found the mutual masturbation less and less satisfying… seeking something more powerful… knowing the remedy, but afraid to put it into words.

Charlie had no compunctions about saying what he felt, and only this afternoon for about the twentieth time in three days, had said, with voice husky in desire, “I’ve got to fuck you or I’ll die, baby.”

Carolyn had been strangely quiet. She knew her body had to have the rest of it, but knew also that what he proposed and what she needed was an irrevocable step, once taken too late then for regrets or second thoughts.

And now, lying in bed listening to her father’s groans echoing down the hallway, feeling the fevered dampness seeping from the scented walls of her cuntal opening down between her thighs, she knew that she could no longer deny her body, or Charlie Webb, the thing they both needed most. “Tomorrow afternoon,” she said aloud. “Tomorrow.” It would be safe then, if the sex education books were right, for her period was due to start in four days…

Down the hall, John Dunn gasped in pleasure as his white hot churning semen finally was propelled through the thin tubes of his jerking balls and began spurting wildly into the unresponsive womb of his wife. The second he rolled off Margaret, she turned on her side and said, “Good night.”

“Good night,” he said, woodenly, trying to keep the anger from his voice. Instead of feeling relaxed, he found his muscles tense - his spinal cord stiff as a crowbar. Nothing he did, nothing she would permit him to do, could crack that cold judicial reserve. She was as unfeeling and emotionless as her law textbooks, he thought bitterly, and had been for the last eight years - ever since discovering he had gone to bed with one of his graduate students, a hot blooded little redhead who fucked like a rabbit and, unlike Margaret who had difficulties and had to work hard for each orgasm, came about as quickly and frequently as a rabbit.

Unknown to any of the three people residing in the Dunn residence, it was a night for decisions. Carolyn had decided to go the route with Charlie. John, unable to face his mounting frustrations any longer, decided he would ask Jean Pepper, his secretary, to accompany him on the Baja California expedition in two weeks - and down there under the hot skies of the Mexican desert, he would fuck her silly. Beside him, her body just as tense as her husband’s, Margaret Dunn decided that tomorrow she would move once and for all into the guest room, and John would never again be permitted to inflict his gross, bestial demands upon her. If necessary, she would divorce him, even though it would be a blemish on her otherwise spotless record. There were people in high circles who said that Margaret Dunn would be the nation’s first female Supreme Court Justice within eight or ten years. Divorce could hurt her chances. The Supreme Court! That was the only dream she had - a dream with enough substance and strength to make her put up with this adulterous stranger lying in the same bed who used her just as he might a whore off the streets.

Chapter 2

Margaret had been assigned the Law and Motions docket for the morning, and the various petitions and pleas kept her seated behind the bench for the entire two and a half hour period. She had declined to take a break, and her courtroom was a colorful swirl of activity as attorneys and their plaintiffs entered in teams, conferred quietly, appeared before the bench, and departed. Fortunately, there were few hitches, and she successfully got through the entire calendar - running over into the noon hour by only a few minutes.

She felt drained as she went back to her chambers and removed her hot robe. Unlike Judge Patricia Gardener, her friend sitting in Municipal Court, Margaret wore a dress under her robe. She wasn’t quite sure exactly why she felt a dress was required, feeling only that it seemed more proper, and the extra material did help obscure a figure which had proved rather distracting to most of the practicing attorneys. She had always thought her too ripe, voluptuous body was her one weak point. Her mind was finely tuned and flexible, able to catch the subtle nuances of any decision, any point of law. But she despaired of her body; men thought of her as a sexual object, and she despised them for it. There was no place in a court of law for such frivolous things as thoughts of animal-like sex.

And with that thought, as she removed her robe, she began thinking about how she was going to break the news to John that one or the other of them would have to move into the guest room. Thank God he was leaving on that Baja California expedition in two weeks; she would be free of him for three months anyway.

Quickly pinning up her hair, the comely judge checked her desk for telephone messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait, she decided, then hurried across the street to her luncheon date with the Presiding Judge of the Superior Court, 76-year-old Judge Samuel Dudley.

The Barristers Restaurant didn’t advertise for new business or increased patronage; they neither wanted or needed it, for the specialty restaurant was open only five hours a day - between ten and three. There was a special room in the rear for judges and court referees, another special room for attorneys who are actually involved in cases and must receive prompt service in order to get back to court in time. The two remaining rooms are for attorneys and clients who are discussing business, and other people who find themselves in the Court area during the day. The booths are rich, luxuriant. The food superb, the atmosphere quiet and pleasant. The only noisy places in the entire establishment were in the kitchen and in the bar, where an inordinately large number of newspaper reporters and photographers hung out hoping for the inside track on a fast-breaking story.

Two photographers boisterously greeted Margaret when she walked in, and another gave out with a low wolf whistle. Ordinarily, she would have been put out at this type of behavior, but she knew she had to retain the favor of the newsmen; the way they handled their stories and the angle from which they took their photographs would make or break someone in public life. For that reason, Margaret usually found herself responding in kind with their banter, even though she hated herself for being hypocritical. Like most of the judges, she kept a fully stocked bar in her chambers, complete with refrigerator, and the newsmen were frequent guests after court had concluded for the day. The only time she had ever drawn the line with them - really drawn it in scathing language - had been the afternoon Stan Watson, the photographer for the Daily World, had suggested she pose for cheesecake atop her desk wearing a bikini swimsuit holding a gavel in her hand.

Margaret turned down at least four offers of drinks from the newsmen, pleading a tight schedule for the afternoon, and then went on back to the rear room where the gray-haired Judge Dudley sat. “I’m sorry I’m late, Sam, but I had a chance to wrap up everything on the docket.”

“No need to apologize, my dear,” he said, gazing in undisguised admiration at her. “After all, it isn’t every day that an old man like me has a chance to dine with…”

“Now… now,” Margaret dimpled, knowing he was going to outrageously flatter her. “Remember what you told Mrs. Johnson, that pretty little embezzler who appeared before you two weeks ago.”

Judge Dudley laughed, delighted. “No flirting with the judge.”

“Right,” Margaret said, lifting her vodka martini on the rocks in mock salute.

“Yes… well, I keep forgetting. I am a man and you are a woman.” He was no longer smiling.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She could accept the compliment from this man old enough to be her grandfather, whereas the same words from a younger man would have annoyed and angered her.

Judge Dudley continued to stare speculatively at her for quite a time, then he seemed to relax, having reached some decision. He asked, quietly, deceptively, “I forgot what I’ve assigned you. What does your calendar look like for the balance of the year?”

“Routine cases. Why?” Something was going on, Margaret could tell by the elderly judge’s behavior. He acted almost as if he were teasing her about something, as if he knew something she didn’t.

Judge Dudley didn’t answer her question at first. He dug into his seafood salad, munching thoughtfully away like a contented rabbit. Now Margaret knew positively that he hadn’t invited her to lunch just for chit-chat; something important hinged on his question.

Finally when the suspense had really begun to build up in her mind, Judge Dudley laid down his fork and said, without any preparation or warning at all, “I’m assigning the Fleming case to you.”

An involuntary gasp came from Margaret’s throat. The Fleming mass murder stories had been on page one of every newspaper in the nation for over a month, and the case itself had overtones of voodoo, witchcraft, and communal sex. The judge who presided over the trial would become a household name across the United States before the hearing was concluded. It would be as important a trial as the Sirhan Sirhan and Charles Manson trials.

Margaret was speechless for a moment, then she stuttered, “Sam… I’m overwhelmed. But what about Harry Watson or Mike Gallagher?”

Judge Dudley shook his head. “You know and I know that Mike, being Catholic, would be challenged by the defense right off the bat because of the Black Mass ceremonies. I’ve talked to Harry, to find out his feelings. Frankly, his health wouldn’t hold up during the five or six months that this trial will take. He recommended you, not knowing that you were my first choice all along.”

Margaret could only repeat her earlier statement. “I’m overwhelmed.” She was, too. She had been in the spotlight before, but never like this.

The old man patted her hand. “Don’t be modest; you’ve earned a chance to show your judicial talent in a national interest case.” He smiled and his eyes seemed to burn holes in her skull, as though he could see every little thought - and the big dream of the Supreme Court - that resided in the hidden recesses of her brain. “You’re going to make us all look good,” he said.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Of course, you will. You’ve always adapted beautifully. Now then, the district attorney and the defense attorney seems to think that it will take a minimum of five months to present both sides. I know that you’ve scheduled your vacation for September, but would it be possible to take it before the trial… say… ah, before July 1st? I want you rested, fresh.”

“Oh, Sam. I can’t. I have too many cases already scheduled.”

“Never mind those,” he said sternly. “We’ll spread them around the various courtrooms.”

“When have you set the trial?” she asked. “Right after the Fourth of July holidays.”

It would mean juggling her schedule around completely. Earlier she had planned to take an October vacation in Washington, D.C., spending her time in the Supreme Court archives. This Fleming case, though, was an opportunity not to be overlooked. “All right, Sam,” she said. “And thank you.”

She was still lost in a vague sense of wonderment as she went back across the street after lunch and donned her judicial robes again. For the afternoon, she had been assigned a non-jury trial involving a seventeen-year-old prostitute. Margaret wasn’t fooled by the assignment. The defense attorney had procrastinated until he was sure the case would be assigned to her, hoping she would be more compassionate with the defendant because of having a daughter about the same age.

It was exactly 1:45 p.m., when Margaret buzzed her bailiff to let him know that she was ready to begin. As she walked down the corridor to the courtroom’s judicial entrance, she heard the gavel bang and the bailiff’s disembodied voice saying, “Hear ye, hear ye. All rise. The State of California… Superior Court… ” It was a familiar phrase to her, one that contained the most important words in the world to her. Whereas other women live for the words, “I love you,” Margaret lived only for this sing-song ritual of opening the court. She threw open the door to the courtroom, stepped up to the bench, and seated herself just as the bailiff concluded, “Judge Margaret Dunn presiding.” She felt that same old familiar thrill, and knew that as long as she lived no other words could ever mean as much to her.

The gavel banged. “Be seated.”

She had expected to spend the better part of the afternoon on the trial. It was relatively simple. The girl had approached a plain clothes policeman drinking beer in a bar and asked him if he wanted “to have a little fun. Only ten dollars.” The policeman had gone along with the girl after calling the vice squad. He had permitted her to disrobe completely, had given her the marked money, and she had lain down on the bed in preparation for the act itself when he identified himself and placed her under arrest. It seemed to be an open and shut case, especially since the girl had been picked up, charged, and convicted three other times for the same offense… thus her assignment to the Superior Court rather than to Juvenile Court.

As it turned out, however, the case was over in five minutes. The girl decided to plead guilty, thus Margaret found herself free of all duties by two o’clock. Somehow, the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon in her chambers poring over pending cases did not appeal to her. It would be nice, she thought, to go swimming for a change… to relax and spend a couple of hours thinking about the opportunity offered by the Fleming trial.

And thus it was, that Margaret found herself pulling into the circular driveway of their house a half-hour later.

When she saw Charlie Webb’s car in front, she had a momentary twinge of disappointment and anger, quickly suppressed. After all, she thought, there’s room enough for three of us in that big pool. It wasn’t until she was putting the key in the locked front door that she began to wonder why Carolyn and Charlie weren’t in school.