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Two young black men sat in our little living room area anxiously awaiting my signal. I waved them over and turned around to face my new wife. I slid open a drawer in the dresser near the door and took out a hand held video recorder, flicked it open and quickly pushed the record button. The little red dot blinked on and I aimed it at Stacie, her stunning gown filling the small LCD screen. I didn't want her to forget one moment of this."One thing I did want this to be was a night you would remember - and that's a little hard considering the extent of some of the things we've done." I chuckled as the two men filed into the room. Stacie's face lit up, the exhaustion disappearing completely from her face, her dark eyes bright with the promise of the next few hours."Well, you have certainly gotten my attention," she smiled, sitting up and smoothing out her silky dress over her legs. The two men moved to either side of her, eyeing their newly wed treat."I don't know their names and we're. John smiled at her and slowly straddled her, his length pointing at her moist entrance. He watched as she took hold of him and stroked him for a few seconds before guiding him into her. Slowly he penetrated her, pushing himself into her. As he filled her, she moaned yet again. Her moans sweet music to his ears. Slowly their rhythm picked up pace as he slammed his rod in and out of her. She reached up and ran her hands over his hard chest, his muscles rippling with desire. Everynow and then he would bend down and kiss her lips or one of her nipples. Christyne soon pushed him off, making him lie on his back. She smiled devilishly as she mounted him. She straddled him, and guided him into her warm tunnel again, feeling him fill her up. She began to bounce on top of him, forcing his length in and out of her. She loved the feel of his hands on her bouncing breasts, cupping them, squeezing them. Everynow and then she would stop bouncing and just grind her hips into his, reveling in the.
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There was little else to steal. They had also driven away a good part of the sheep of the upper village, but the time had not been sufficient to also raid stables in the lower parts of the village. The Urners had been very audacious, but not foolhardy and it would be a very hard winter in the valley. Maybe they would have to ask the cloister for food even if that meant still higher tithes for the years to come. The men grabbed whatever was available, knives, pitchforks, sickles, clubs, some were empty-handed as they ran up the hill following the deep tracks in the snow. They were furious, and they were afraid. Afraid of the Urners, but even more afraid of a spring that would come and they would eat limp winter grass and tree bark. They would cook old sheep skins and leather belts to have at least something like a soup. Where some old people, and small children and their mothers, exhausted from childbirth would die of hunger, and where the young and strong would wait helplessly for.

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