Angelica Angelina

Identical twins discover they have a lot more in common than just appearance.

Chapter One: The sisters discover each other

My life is hell. Pure undeniable hell. Don't believe me? Let me tell you about it and see what you think. Let me start with my home. I live in a two story, 8,400 square foot, (not counting the four car garage) central air and heat, shag carpeted, eight bedroom, Oxfordshire Tudor. We only need three bedrooms so four of the extras became a library, an office, a gym, and a billiard room. The remaining was a spare bedroom for visitors. The kitchen has both marble counters and marble floor. Only the most modern and efficient appliances are allowed. From our living room bay window you see the manicured lawn stop at the edge of the lake only forty yards away. There is a 108 inch plasma television mounted on the wall of the den. The leather couches and sofas are so comfortable it is easy to fall asleep on them.

Not convinced yet? Then let me invite you into my bedroom. I have a queen sized canopy covered lace quilted bed. I have a full bathroom that is mine alone. On my wall hangs another plasma screen TV. It is not as big as the one in the living room. I had to settle for a scrawny 55 inch one. It is however connected to a DVD player and I have Netflix. I guess I have to be happy with what little I can get. Oh yeah, least I forget, there is a maid that shows up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and insists on cleaning my room from top to bottom and does all my laundry.

I have just graduated high school. To honor the occasion and to help me get to the nearby college I start in fall, the parents are letting me pick out my own car. They have placed only one restriction on me. It cannot, under any circumstance, cost more than sixty thousand dollars.

Now comes the family. Let me start with dear old Dad. Dad is a born again Christian. When I say born again, I mean born with a vengeance. He is a minister with one of the most successful ministries in all of the United States. The church has seats for six thousand. Every Sunday workers put a few hundred folding chairs in the back and along the sides to help with the overflow. Plans are underway for a bigger, better chapel. His sermon is televised around the country. Envelopes stuffed with cash and checks pour in daily.

I will give him credit for this. He is sincere. There are some preachers out there that have second and third homes, several cars, a dozen Rolex watches, and secret mistresses. Their ministry is their way of fleecing the people. Not my Dad. He practices what he preaches. We have the one house plus a small cabin on the other side of the lake. Our family car is five years old, and every night Jesus sits with us at the dinner table. While I have never seen Him, Dad has a place at the end of the table reserved for Him. He tells us, "You never know."

Here is where it gets a little touchy. He is as straight laced in sexual matters as the Pope is catholic. He preaches to the congregation sex can only occur between a lawfully married man and woman. Only the missionary position is allowed and a penis should never be put in any hole except the vagina. What he says to his church is pounded into us. You ever hear the saying, 'If I had a dime for every time I heard that, I'd be rich?' Well with me and my family, that would not be much of a stretch. Yes, he also talks about honesty, sharing, forgiving and many other Christian topics, but the sex talk, or to be more accurate, the lack of sex talk, is the one harped on.

That brings me to Mom. Mom is beautiful. If Victoria's Secret ever started a line for women in their late thirties, Mom could grace the cover. I do not know if Dad has ever noticed, but I have seen looks of despair touch her features. Dad does not see it, but Mom wants more. She wants to experience pleasures that cannot be achieved thru common missionary sex. A month ago Dad had some porno magazines in the back of his car. Now, don't jump to the wrong conclusion, these were magazines the newly saved gave him to destroy. He has a fifty-five gallon barrel set aside to do the deed. On this particular day, there was a major storm so Dad brought what he referred to as 'The Devils Work' into his study. Normally he would not have done this, but he had a meeting with the Elders of the church later and they would take his car after the meeting to get coffee. He did not want such filth around them.

When he was gone, I happened to walk by his office. Mom did not see me and would have been mortified if she had, but I saw her glancing thru some of the evil pictures. I was only four feet behind her but she was so engrossed with what she viewed I might as well have been on Mars. She paid particular attention to a picture of some guy licking this lady's pussy. I stood motionless and watched Mom's hand as it slid under her undies and began fingering herself. To be honest, such images were as new to me as they were to Mom. She glanced thru several magazines, paying particular attention to the females getting licked and fingered. It did not matter whether it was male or female chowing down, Mom seemed to enjoy the idea of getting her pussy eaten. There was one showing a dude sticking his prick up some lady's ass. She appeared to be as interested in that as all the others. I turned and left the area. My timing was perfect. Fifteen seconds later, Mom walked out.

Sure enough the next day the storm passed and every magazine was burned. Dad made certain he turned the ashes so there was no chance a dirty photo might escape.

That brings me to my sister. My older sister. One minute and eight seconds older to be exact. We are identical twins. Growing up we wore the same clothes, went to the same school, had the same piano teacher, and ate the same meals. I could go on and on about how family and society went to great extremes to see everything about us was as balanced and equal as humanly possible. Just know this: the world went out of its way to be certain anything that happened was exactly the same for me as it was for her.

Many times as identical twins mature, certain differences show up. Not us. Since our genetics was exactly the same, our environment was exactly the same, our diet was exactly the same and our experiences were exactly the same, there was no room for any difference to squeeze its way in.

I am going to describe my sister to you, and in doing so, give you a perfect description of me. Her name is Angelica. (Mine is Angelina.) Angelica is eighteen years old, has the deepest, brownest eyes imaginable and a perfect complexion.

When we were eleven, we both woke up one day with a pimple on our chin. Dad suffered terrible acne as a teen and took us to a dermatologist that afternoon, wanting to save us from that particular misery. Within a week the pimple was gone and no other has ever appeared. Now her face is befitting her name, it belongs to an angel. Oh, her lips. They are a light red, voluptuous, and always moist. Her hair is raven black and comes to mid back. She keeps it straight with the exception of a curl added on the last two inches.

She is five feet ten inches in her bare feet. My God does she have fantastic legs. No one else but me and sometimes Mom ever get to see them, but if she was ever allowed to wear a bikini, there would not be a male within sight that would not gawk at them. Muscular, long, creamy, and silky smooth are only a few of the adjectives to describe them.

She has the classic hourglass figure. A tantalizing 36-24-36. Man-oh-man is she limber. Must have come from all the ballet and gymnastics classes. She can place a knee next to her bicep. I have seen her stand flat footed and take the other foot and touch the ceiling. Yes it was a low ceiling, but the fact she could do it is amazing. Her stomach is as flat as a board and smooth as the rest of her.

Now I get to the good stuff, her breasts, or to be a little vulgar, (At least for a good Christian girl) her tits. Wow! Does she ever have a great rack. They jiggle and bounce as she walks. She wears a D cup. She does not have any of the bras shown on TV that 'lift and separate.' She does not need them. Her perky breasts stand up proud and strong without any help.

She has an ass dancers and strippers the world over would love to have. A tight little bun that makes you want to pinch and squeeze it. Her cheeks are so smooth you can take a silk scarf and run it over them. There are no bumps or protrusions to snag the hanky. It flows over her as evenly and smoothly as water flowing down a brook.

Now, for the cream of the crop, the best of the best, the piece de resistance: her vagina, cunt, pussy, pee hole, heaven's gate, or any other term that describes an entrance to sheer joy and bliss. She still has her cherry. No dick has been able to get past all the guards and safety checks Dad has in place to make sure we stay pure and unblemished. She is all natural there. There have been times she has considered shaving, but to this point has never worked up the courage.

Okay, let's go back to the beginning of my narrative. I stated my life is hell. Now if you were to stop reading my story here, you would think, What a spoiled rotten bitch. She has it made and does not even realize it. If this is where it ended, I would have no option but to agree with you. Sadly this is not where the story ends. For you to understand, we have to return to my Dad, preacher man extraordinaire.

Let me say at the outset, my Dad loves me. He has never treated me unkindly, unfairly, or abused me. He provides for my every need. I have the best of housing, clothing, food, medical treatment, schooling and so on. I lack for nothing. Nothing that is except for a sexual outlet. Angelica and I attended private schools. All girl private schools. Twice a year boys from the male counter part of our school were invited over for a social event. That is, a dance and tea. These were well chaperoned events. There was a ratio of one adult to every two students. Each chaperone selected a set of students they shadowed from the time the vans brought the boys over to the time our parents picked us up.

While dancing if a boy's hand slid too low along my back, the chaperone gave a stern warning. If it happened a second time, the warning came with a rap on the knuckles from a ruler which appeared as if by magic in the chaperones hand. There was never a third attempt.

Outside of school was no better. Dad was an upstanding member of the community. The only reason he was not the mayor or the governor was because he did not want the job. With about seven thousand people grabbing on to his every word at church, and at least a hundred times that watching on television throughout America, his power was unrivaled. He never spoke directly on the topic to any of his followers, but there was no doubt among them if they had a son that dated one of his daughters and anything untoward happened, they would be ruined both financially and socially. A single word from him would drive customers and friends away as if they had the plague. For that reason, no family allowed any son to ask us out.

Once we talked to Dad about this. He explained he was looking out for our best interests. The day would come when the perfect man would show up that would live with us both in this world and in the one to come. Further discussion revealed men that graduated with doctorates from seminary school would be assistant preachers to him. After a few years if he believed they were sincere God fearing men, he would allow them to date and eventually marry us. According to his time schedule, we were looking to be in our mid-twenties before we would one, get married, and two, lose our virginity.

This is where the hell comes in. I dream of having sex. I want to feel a man wrap his arms around me and thrust his huge prick into me. I have fantasies of sucking a guy off. I have imagined having three different men at the same time ramming their dicks into each of my holes. If I follow Dad's plan, none of those things will ever happen. I will end up a sexually starved matron of a family, spreading my legs two or maybe three times a month so my husband can get his jollies. I will be my mother. That I will not allow to happen.

It would be five weeks before we began our first semester at college. Again a private college with high moral standards. Until that time we would stay at home. Dad proudly proclaimed we were growing up and turning into fine, upstanding ladies. I no longer wanted to be an upstanding lady, but instead a lady that got fucked on a regular basis. God must have known my wishes, for an opportunity to get off the old maid path presented itself.

Dad called us into his study a little before seven o'clock on a Monday morning. "Jessy," he said, calling Mom by name. "Angelica, Angelina," he added completing the roll call. "There is a great opportunity given to us. It is truly a blessing from the Most High God. One of the biggest television stations in Denver has responded to our inquiries about carrying our sermons. If we can agree on a price my television audience will at least double and maybe even triple. Here is an added bonus, if we can sign a contract I'll be broadcast in Europe. I am leaving today and will not return until Saturday night. I will be back in time to give my sermon to the church on Sunday. I wish you could go with me, but this is strictly business and I do not like the idea of you around a city that openly allows marijuana. An ungodly act that will surely soon bring down Heaven's wrath. Perhaps that is why He is opening this door, so they might see the evil of their ways and repent."

"I only found out this morning they have an interest. Not a lot of time to prepare but with God at my side I will succeed."

Before he could say more, there was the honk of a car horn. We looked out the window and saw the taxi in the driveway. Dad grabbed his bible and his bags and was out the door. We waved to him as he rode out of sight.

Once it was just the three of us Mom said, "I hate to leave you two alone, but I have several meetings today with the Church Auxiliary. We are planning the fall events and as the wife of the minister, I cannot miss it. I'll be back late, probably about nine o'clock. Go ahead and order a couple of pizzas for dinner." Mom hurried to the car and soon it was just the two of us.

"So what do you want to do now?" Angelica asked.

It must have been Dad putting the idea in my head with his mention of marijuana, but it popped at once to the front of my mind. I looked at her and smiled as I said, "I want to get high."

If she was surprised, she did not show it. Our thought processes and thinking patterns were remarkably the same. All the time one of us would complete the other's sentence. It drove Mom bonkers. We desired the same things and had the same goals.

"So how do we go about getting any weed? I don't know how to get something as simple as beer. We've been so sheltered we have no knowledge of things outside this home or our church."

"Rita does," I said.

"Our maid?" Angelica asked. "Do you think she would?"

"It depends on how we ask her. We have to put it to her a certain way and maybe if we are lucky, we might have a fifty-fifty shot."

"How do we ask?"

"Don't beat around the bush. We come right out and tell her what we want. She will say yes or she will say no. If we pussy foot around, she will have nothing to do with it."

Angelica asked, "How about cash?"

"I have fourteen hundred dollars stashed away. You have a little over thirteen hundred in your hiding place."

She was not the least surprised I knew where she hid some money. She knew where I hid mine and how much I had.

"Okay, that should be more than enough. If she says yes, we experience something new for a change," Angelica stated.

Thirty minutes later Rita walked thru the door. She saw us sitting at the kitchen table and could tell from the way we looked something was up. "Good morning and what is wrong?" she asked in the same sentence.

Angelica wasted no time in coming to the point. "Rita, we want to get some marijuana."

The maid paused for a second before saying, "Why do you come to me for this?"

"You are the only person we know well enough that is not a member of our church that might be able to get what we need."

"Where will you tell people it came from?"

"We will not tell we got it from you, we promise," I said. "Besides, no one but you, me, and Angelica will know we have it."

"And how do you promise?"

I paused for a short time before realizing what she meant. "I swear on the bible I will not tell."

"I also swear on the bible no one will ever find out from me where it came from," Angelica added.

"Let me make a call. I do not promise anything, but I will see what I can do." She pulled her cell phone from her purse and touched one of the speed dial buttons. She put the phone on speaker so we could all hear.

"Hi, Aunt Rita. Why am I getting a call from you so early in the morning?"

"I want an ounce of marijuana."

"Since when have you started smoking?"

"It's not for me, but for a friend."

"Does this friend have money?"

"How much?"

"Depends on what he wants. I have skunk weed that will not do much more than give him a headache. That will be one hundred seventy-five dollars. I have some good stuff that delivers a good high I can let you have for four hundred. Now if he is really looking for a good time I have some high quality, high THC content that will leave him feeling good for four, maybe five hours before he comes down. It is a mellow high that leaves you happy and feeling good. Real good. Best of all, this particular strain does not have any of that annoying paranoid feeling. That will put him back nine hundred."

"Wait one moment." She covered the phone up so she would not be overheard. "What do you want?"

Angelica looked at me only a second before she said, "We will take the nine hundred dollar ounce."

"Okay, give me eleven hundred dollars."

"He said nine hundred."

"I am the one making contact, I will be the one that goes to get it, and I will be the one carrying it if some cop should happen to pull me over. There is a price for that."

Angelica and I put our heads together and conferred. She made a suggestion and I readily agreed.

"Okay," my sister said. "Let's go ahead and get two bags. That way we will not have to look for more anytime soon."

"What has gotten into you two?" Rita asked.

We counted out eighteen hundred for the two bags and added two hundred to it for her.

"You doubled the amount of pot, that means double my fee," Rita said.

I added another two hundred to the pile. Her curiosity was now satisfied.

"Do you have a way to smoke it?" she asked.

"What does that mean?"

"Do you have a bong or rolling papers? Perhaps a pipe?"

"No, what is a bong?" I asked.

"Give me another fifty. I will get one for you. You will have to figure out how to use it on your own."

She went back to the phone. "Meet me at the gas station at Main and Second Street in twenty minutes. He wants two of the nine hundred dollar bags." She closed her phone.

"Why don't you just tell him to come here? It would save a lot of time." I said.

"You two young girls may have a lot of school and bible learning, but you know nothing of the world. First of all, you do not want a drug dealer, even my nephew, knowing where you live. Also, he is under the impression it is a male making the purchase. We do not need him to think any other way. Now you two try not to burn the house down while I am gone. I will be back in less than an hour."

With that she grabbed her purse and was out the door.

While she was gone we tried to listen to the radio and watch TV, but the anticipation and excitement kept us from thinking about anything except the adventure we would soon have.