It was there that the drunken group ended up. Most of the others were drunk, but El Gallo and La Tarantula, who had not imbibed as yet, were still sober. For the while they busied themselves in the pens where the bulls were kept. Occasionally, someone would holler out to El Gallo, 'That Miura bull will show you how well you can make a veronica!' or, 'watch out for that dappled toro! he has a killing look in his eye!'
But El Gallo heard nothing. As the others milled around him, the men hollering, the women giggling from their drinks, he held on to the arm of La Tarantula and was glum and silent. She, however, being a gypsy, fell into the gay spirit of the evening. Seizing a bottle of wine from someone, she drained it at a gulp, the wine pouring down from the corners of her mouth onto her flimsy dress. Soon, she became as wild as the rest of them. Time and again she took a swig of fiery aguardiente, each drink making her drunker than ever. But she was a gypsy. In her there burned blood that demanded that she cast care to the winds, that she throw herself into the spirit of joy and untrammelled carefree happiness. And the more she tried to ply El Gallo with drinks, the more glum he became, refusing the offers. Yet, each offer that he refused, she, in turn, tipped into her own gullet.
And the rest of the company were doing the same thing. Their stock of wine and aguardiente had been refurbished at the little vente that stood at the corner of the pens where there were tables and chairs for any who cared to sit. And when they grew tired of roistering about the pens, goading the bulls until they charged the wooden fences and sometimes splintered their horns, they finally retired to the vente, where they seated themselves at the tables and were soon opening new bottles of wine.
Off in a corner, Zaralito had worked his cigarette girl onto the floor.
There, he was babbling to her that she suck his cock. She, with just about enough in her to take the dare, suddenly demanded that if he would stand on the table, she would suck his cock right there in front of the whole group. Zaralito tried to turn the offer down with disgust. But the others had heard the proposition and they leaped up and demanded that he go through with the bargain. At first Zaralito demurred. But under the threats of dire murder from his friends, he sheepishly condescended to go through with the performance.
Somebody helped him up onto one of the tables, as he was too drunk to negotiate the step himself. A guitarist in the rear struck up a fast jota.
The men stamped in rhythm while the women clapped, heightening the excitement all the more.
Then, amidst a general clamour of laughter and a hullabaloo of advice and drunken taunts, the drunken cigarette girl arose from her chair and stepped over to the drunken Zaralito, swaying on his tabletop.
Slowly, she inserted her hands into the flap of his trousers. For a moment she could not seem to find that for which she was seeking. But a light suddenly came to her eyes as she made the catch. In no time, she had a limp prick hanging in front of the man. The company howled at the sight of the thing. There was not enough there to fill a dog's mouth, they screamed. Others cried to the girl to get herself a real man.
But, evidently, the girl was a professional. She saw that, despite the present size of the penis, there were a number of folds in it which indicated that, distended, it could reach a sizeable length. And so, after cocking her head quizzically at it, she went to work on her job. First she inserted her right hand into his trousers again, where she encircled his ball-sac with her fingers, diddling the rough surface with nervous sensitive fingers that sent electric shocks through the staggering picador. Still no rise came from the limp member. This did not disconcert the woman. Immediately, she ducked her head so that her mouth came directly under the tip of the penis. Then she raised her head slowly, opening her mouth at the same time so that, as her mouth came up, the prick slithered into the aperture. At the same time she wrapped her tongue around the tip of the prick, taking in a deep sucking breath. She felt a slight movement in the prick. She realized that, under the influence of alcohol, it would be difficult to bring an erection to the drunken picador. But she was a professional. And, in no time, what with her tickling of his balls and inserting her fingers into his anus where she massaged his prostate gland, she brought the oncelimp cock up to a fairly hard condition. In fact now, instead of hanging its head in shame, it was beginning to jut out like a lance. The head of the penis proper was sticking out slightly from its foreskin and the little eye winked naughtily at the assemblage who were taking in the spectacle now without a sound. All that could be heard was the occasional bellow of a bull outside and the sucking, moist, plupping noises of the girl's mouth filled with saliva as it negotiated the entire distance of the picador's rapidly hardening prick. Slowly, under her tongue, the girl felt the foreskin gradually drawing away from the tip of the prick. Soon, she felt the ridge of the head in her mouth. And a hardness settled into the whole length of the prick. It slid into her mouth with not so much effort as previously. Busily her head bobbed up and back now instead of up and down, for the prick stuck straight out in front of him. Up and back her head bobbed, the prick shooting in and out of her mouth like the piston of a railroad engine.
When she felt that he had reached the apex of hardness, the girl stopped suddenly and pulled away from the six-inch cock standing so proudly now. She looked up at the swaying picador. Then she turned to the company who by this time were applauding her feat drunkenly.
From his vantage point atop the table, Zaralito suddenly called out petulantly, 'What shall I do with this thing now that I have it?'
Someone called out, 'Fuck the girl now!'
The others took up the cry. 'Fuck the girl! fuck the girl!' they ordered, laughing uproariously at the situation of the lanky picador standing above them, his great cock sticking out in front of him.
This time it was the girl who tried to demur. But she was seized by the others. Her dress was torn off of her back, her underclothes stripped completely from her. Then she was lifted to the tabletop next to Zaralito. He looked at her drunkenly, wondering what was going to happen next. She looked charming there. Her long black hair was coiled atop her head, crowned with a high comb. Below that there was nothing on her torso, only two splendid olive-collared breasts with pink nipples winking their eyes in the nickering lamplight of the room.
Lower down the drunk saw a beautiful triangle of dark amid the forest of hairs. He was scarcely able to discern the cleft of the woman. Had she not had on her long opera-length black hose and red high-heeled shoes, perhaps he might not have been induced to go through with the fuckshow. But something in them thrilled him, the suggestiveness perhaps of the half-attire. Anyhow, with a cry of joy, he seized the girl and implanted a rough kiss on her mouth.
'Fuck! don't kiss!' the others hooted.
But he was too drunk to take notice of them.
However, the girl was game to the core. Besides, in the act of sucking him off, she had created a desire in herself for the fuck. And so, although her lips were still glued to his mauling lips, she spread her legs so as to open up her cunt and seized hold of his potent prick. She had to make him bend at the knees so as to facilitate insertion into her cunt. But, with some expert wiggling and facile contortions, she finally managed to wangle his prick into the hole of her cunt so that, with little exertion on his part, he could rapidly withdraw and re-insert his stiffened member.
The guitarist took his cue again from this frenzied act and struck up a wild bolero dance. The feet of the men stamped heavily to the primitive African tomtom beat of the sensual music. The handclaps of the women took on a staccato effect. Then the veil of drunkenness fell away from the man on the table. His prick in contact with the heated cunt of the woman, his instincts came to the fore. In and out he began to shove his prick into the beckoning suction of the moist cleft of flesh between her legs. Rapidly the music took on a barbaric tone, the beat coming with every thrust of the prick. The man seized the woman about the waist. In and out his prick went. Not knowing where he was he bit her lips and cheeks in frenzied passion, still pumping his prick into her, still holding her in an iron grip so that the flesh under his fingers grew white. Louder and louder the stamping of feet grew.
Quicker and quicker the women clapped their hands. The sweat poured from the man's forehead onto the shoulders of the woman and glistened like tiny balls in the lamplight. The drunken men and women, but for the sounds of their hands and feet, had grown very quiet. Their eyes popped from their sockets. Their tongues laved their lips. Their faces twitched from nervous tics brought on by the orgy of lust and passion that was being displayed in front of their very eyes. In themselves, they felt the fires of emotion slowly gathering their forces.
The men felt their pricks harden. The women sensed a glowing in the vicinity of their cunnies, a stiffening of the nipples of their breasts so that they stuck out from their bodices like tiny points. And, like the couple on the table, their breaths started to come in laboured gasps.
Their limbs twitched. Occasionally, one of them would allow a moan to escape from her lips as she ran her tongue over the dry and cracked surfaces of her upper and lower lips.
And still the man on the table poked his member in between the woman's legs so that it seemed as though, with every violent thrust, he would push her over the edge of the table. But, they kept their balance on the table and continued the rhythm of their motions, each twirling their hips, each swinging their buttocks in mad wide
