jabbing him with her elbow and he fell off. The girl took full advantage of her gain and slithered out from under him, rolling over on top, clawing at him, reaching for his throat with strong fingers.
Surprised, Cesare decided that the time had come for stronger measures. He was afraid someone might hear their scuffling from the bridge-and apart from that he was almost coming against her wriggling body.
He pulled back his right fist, pushing her wrists away with his left, and punched hard and straight into her belly.
The girl collapsed on him, gasping with pain and he rolled her off and swayed over on top of her again. She was completely winded. She lay there helpless for the moment, with her dress halfway up her strong, naked thighs.
Cesare lost no time, now. He was very scared that somebody might have heard the noise. He ripped her dress up what remained hidden of her thighs, felt between her legs for the love-slit she was in no position to protect and guided his hungry prick at it.
He held the girl's arms with his hands once his knob was against her lower lips-and then he pushed in against her.
For several seconds he couldn't seem to make progress. He released an arm and reached down again, feeling for the opening. He pulled her flopping thighs apart to facilitate his entry and pushed again.
The girl squealed even through her lack of breath when his throbbing knob pierced into her. Automatically she swung her arm up and tried to push him off, gasping with the pain in her belly and the fresh pain down at her treasured vagina.
Cesare caught the arm and forced it down again. He was really in now. And it was tight enough to hurt. He was flooded with a great sense of relief, as if the frustrations of a lifetime had suddenly been put right.
The girl was squirming with pain. But his push had so hurt and winded her that she could hardly groan, let alone put up any serious opposition to his assault on her maidenhood.
Cesare breathed out his relief. At last he was able to quench his desire in a tight, loving, tender body. He thrust in as if he were ramming shot into a cannon and with each thrust he expelled a toe-shaking sigh of relief.
With his body quivering all over he wriggled his loins into her pelvis. He didn't want to take long now that he'd succeeded at last. His prick was heavy and prickling and the girl, her face creased in pain, had almost given up struggling under the fury of his attack.
Cesare lowered his face onto hers and kissed her lips. Her lips were unresponsive, tight together and she forced her face away from him. So he kissed her dark neck as his prick seared up into her clam-gripping vagina. He wriggled in and in until, for the first time, his whole prick from throbbing knob to tingling base was buried in a soft female passage.
He shagged her furiously with quick hard strokes. He couldn't take too much time, but he had to have that final world-shattering explosion; that had to take place in her soft, tight body.
The girl lay under him, still too wounded in her belly to resist. He let go of her arms and put his hands under her buttocks, scraping the backs of his fingers against the sand. Her rump was firm and springy. The feel of it sent a new zest winging through his hot ramrod. He pulled her belly up against him so that it seemed as if he was holding her vagina in a framework for his prick. He looked down at her belly which he could see, dimly white in the darkness. He could also see his weapon, dimly white, moving into the cranny at her thigh-junction.
He held her buttocks tightly. Each stroke now was as if he were bursting into her for the first time. His prick had grown tight, intense with sensation. It was coming. He gritted his teeth and fixed his eyes on her dim face, turned sideways, still creased in pain. She was a stranger, a total stranger. And he was joined with her here in this most complete of intimacies! They were one flesh-united by his bridge of penis!
As he felt the soaring mount in him he never took his eyes from her face. She moved her legs occasionally, but simply because she was uncomfortable. From start to near finish there had been little resistance.
He burst in and in and with each burst he felt the moment edge excruciatingly nearer. He was trying to keep his noises back in his throat. There he was, coughing and growling, trying not to lose control.
He felt the last movement in his loins. It was joy and beauty and savagery all combined in his screwing into this firm and beautiful unknown body. He squeezed the buttocks in his hands as he thrust, and his thrusts slowed to grinding heaves. He was losing control. It was heaven. It was hell. He couldn't keep it back. It was coming, coming, into the body of this strange, prostrate girl whose buttocks were in his hands, whose tight, clinging vagina was around his prick, whose face was there pressed into the sand in the darkness. It was coming, whirling, here, oh God, here… “Aaaaaaaah!”… the final cry groaned from his throat, forcing his lips apart and he flopped and bit her strained neck as he shot his sperm into her helpless, wide-open passage.
The girl lay as though dead and after a while he pulled his hands out from under her behind and rolled off her. Now that it was over he felt a flatness. It certainly didn't seem worth the extreme and violent measures he'd gone to to get it.
His thoughts, as he tucked his limp penis into the slit in his hose, turned on the difficulty of getting home, of getting away from the girl- it seemed too unnatural just to get up and walk off-of keeping clear of her in future, of avoiding recognition. It was chilly, too, now.
He glanced back at the bridge, wondering if anyone had heard the cry of his climax. As far as he could see nobody was there. But, by now, it was impossible really to see anything at that distance.
A slithering movement beside him brought his glance quickly back to the girl. He recoiled. Having had time, at last, to recover from her winding, she'd reached out and grabbed the dagger which he, so carelessly, had left lying beside them on the sand.
Now she had drawn herself up onto her knees and was glaring at him with eyes whose gleaming fury he could feel even through the gloom.
He drew back, without a word, slithering back onto his knees, getting warily to his feet as she did.
“Now I shall kill you,” she said with a quiet intensity. “Now I have the dagger and I shall kill you.”
He didn't answer. He kept his eyes on her and the dagger, whose gold handle gave off a slight luster in the darkness.
Crouching, she came toward him. He faced her, arms bent out toward her like a wrestler, watching intently. There was danger in running. He might fall; she might overtake him on the rough ground and stab him from behind. He waited for her to come at him.
When she did, leaping forward suddenly with the knife upraised, his foot lashed out and caught her in the groin. She fell on one knee and he leapt on her. In spite of her pain, she clung desperately to the dagger. But he was too strong for her. Slowly he forced her arm down until the knife was between them. He brought up his knee under her elbow from his standing position and the knife fell from her momentarily paralyzed fingers.
He pushed her back with his foot and groped quickly for the knife. He was half aware of her body flying at him once more as he rose with the knife. There was a slight moan from her lips and she fell heavily against him.
He twisted and leapt away. But the knife didn't come away in his hand. Behind him the girl slumped heavily to the ground and lay face down without a tremor.
Cesare stayed stock-still where he was. A flush of horror washed over him. He waited for her to move, to groan, but she lay like a corpse.
Cautiously he moved back to where she lay. He looked around for the knife, but he couldn't find it. He looked back at her still figure, chilled. He stood over her. He could see both her hands and the knife wasn't in either of them. Overcoming a sudden urge just to leave, to rush off into the night, he bent and turned her over. The cold sight of what he had known from her stillness petrified him. The dagger was buried in her breast almost to the gold hilt. Around it her brown, peasant dress was stained a darker brown. Her eyes were open, but unseeing.
Cesare's mind became a confusion of irrelevant, frightened thoughts. It was some minutes before he was able to think with any clarity. Then he forced himself to be calm and work out what to do. The main thing, he told himself tensely, was to be quick. The next, leave nothing to identify himself. He looked down at the hilt of the dagger and shuddered. He stopped his gaze from rising to the girl's face just in time and, closing his eyes, caught the handle of the knife and pulled. It came away with a smooth springy pressure and when he opened his eyes it was wet and dripping in his hand.
Have to wash it. He glanced around at the river a dozen paces away. He started toward it and then stopped and looked back at the body. He went back to it and put his hand on the girl's breast. No, of course she was dead. Steeling himself, he took her under each armpit and dragged her as quietly as he could manage to the edge of the
