trailed across his skin. He moved farther onto the bed. She moved with him, letting her breasts hang so that her nipples just grazed along over his belly and chest. Then she swung one leg over him and lowered her hips, her body suddenly drawing him into her, seizing him in one swift, sure movement that made him gasp with pleasure.
She leaned forward, letting him kiss her breasts and suck her nipples as their lower bodies heaved violently together. Neil reached down to stroke her wet hard clitoris at the same time as their bodies were thrusting furiously, making the large bed rock and groan. Marisa's cries grew much louder, she no longer cared who might hear anything.
It was longer the second time, but not slower, and the pleasure they experienced was far more intense, ravishing both of them. Their bodies were drenched with sweat when they finally lay still together. Marisa kissed his neck, her lips moving weakly, the lightest of touches. Neil could only hold her in his arms.
He must have dozed off for a little while. Marisa was kissing him and telling him that she couldn't stay in his room all night, but that she would be back in the morning. Neil gave a little groan of unhappiness, but he smiled sleepily when he opened his eyes and saw her.
"Your face is red, all around your mouth," he said.
She grinned. "So is yours. And your lips are swollen up."
He smiled. "So are yours."
"Not just my lips!"
They laughed, kissed and hugged again, but then she left and the light went out and Neil immediately fell back into a deep happy sleep.
He was naked and cold, and he groped blindly for something to cover himself with. Then the voices entered his brain and stubbornly dragged him back to near-consciousness. Neil sat up slowly and opened his eyes. There was a little grey in the light that came through his open window. The voices were coming from somewhere outside. They were unintelligible, foreign, but surprisingly clear and sharp in the predawn silence.
Neil stood up and listened. He could still hear the voices, though they were a bit fainter now. He crossed the cold floor to the window. The air was very cool, but the cloudy fog-il morbo-had disappeared. It was still fairly dark outside but he could see things clearly enough.
In the distance, on one of the ridges about a hundred yards away, two men were walking. But no, there were three of them. They were moving in a direction away from the house. Their voices carried so well that it seemed to Neil almost like a ventriloquist's trick, as if they were standing on the ground just below his window. But he still couldn't understand anything they said. Their voices were gruff, angry, or so it sounded to Neil.
Then he realized dimly that two of the men were dragging and yanking the third one along. They appeared to hit and kick him, as necessary, to keep him moving. A struggle of some sort was in progress, but at such a distance it seemed merely curious to Neil, almost abstract. It went on like that for a little while longer, and then the three men disappeared beyond the downward curl of the winding ridge.
Neil stood there a moment longer, until he realized that he couldn't keep his eyes open and that he was nearly asleep on his feet. He was still so tired. He turned around and went back to bed, pulling the sheet and blankets up over him, clutching them tightly just beneath his chin.
Then he heard-somewhere in the distance, outside- a gunshot. But it was there and gone in an instant, and sleep had him.
The Second Day
A sound, a metal click too small and distant to stir him, nothing more than a transient pinprick on the otherwise blank expanse of Neil's sleep. But then something else, different and closer, a whisper of cloth, accompanied by a feeling of movement-his own. Marisa was in bed with him, he realized, suddenly aware of her warmth enveloping him, her radiant skin on his and her hair fanning across his
She leaned forward, letting him kiss her breasts and suck her nipples as their lower bodies heaved violently together. Neil reached down to stroke her wet hard clitoris at the same time as their bodies were thrusting furiously, making the large bed rock and groan. Marisa's cries grew much louder, she no longer cared who might hear anything.
It was longer the second time, but not slower, and the pleasure they experienced was far more intense, ravishing both of them. Their bodies were drenched with sweat when they finally lay still together. Marisa kissed his neck, her lips moving weakly, the lightest of touches. Neil could only hold her in his arms.
He must have dozed off for a little while. Marisa was kissing him and telling him that she couldn't stay in his room all night, but that she would be back in the morning. Neil gave a little groan of unhappiness, but he smiled sleepily when he opened his eyes and saw her.
"Your face is red, all around your mouth," he said.
She grinned. "So is yours. And your lips are swollen up."
He smiled. "So are yours."
"Not just my lips!"
They laughed, kissed and hugged again, but then she left and the light went out and Neil immediately fell back into a deep happy sleep.
He was naked and cold, and he groped blindly for something to cover himself with. Then the voices entered his brain and stubbornly dragged him back to near-consciousness. Neil sat up slowly and opened his eyes. There was a little grey in the light that came through his open window. The voices were coming from somewhere outside. They were unintelligible, foreign, but surprisingly clear and sharp in the predawn silence.
Neil stood up and listened. He could still hear the voices, though they were a bit fainter now. He crossed the cold floor to the window. The air was very cool, but the cloudy fog-il morbo-had disappeared. It was still fairly dark outside but he could see things clearly enough.
In the distance, on one of the ridges about a hundred yards away, two men were walking. But no, there were three of them. They were moving in a direction away from the house. Their voices carried so well that it seemed to Neil almost like a ventriloquist's trick, as if they were standing on the ground just below his window. But he still couldn't understand anything they said. Their voices were gruff, angry, or so it sounded to Neil.
Then he realized dimly that two of the men were dragging and yanking the third one along. They appeared to hit and kick him, as necessary, to keep him moving. A struggle of some sort was in progress, but at such a distance it seemed merely curious to Neil, almost abstract. It went on like that for a little while longer, and then the three men disappeared beyond the downward curl of the winding ridge.
Neil stood there a moment longer, until he realized that he couldn't keep his eyes open and that he was nearly asleep on his feet. He was still so tired. He turned around and went back to bed, pulling the sheet and blankets up over him, clutching them tightly just beneath his chin.
Then he heard-somewhere in the distance, outside- a gunshot. But it was there and gone in an instant, and sleep had him.
The Second Day
A sound, a metal click too small and distant to stir him, nothing more than a transient pinprick on the otherwise blank expanse of Neil's sleep. But then something else, different and closer, a whisper of cloth, accompanied by a feeling of movement-his own. Marisa was in bed with him, he realized, suddenly aware of her warmth enveloping him, her radiant skin on his and her hair fanning across his
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