prick into his lover's awaiting organ, sensing the lovingness with which she followed his every motion, his every action, his every labour of love.
He too sensed the fact that this was different. That this was love such as he had never before known to be existent. His frequent fucking jousts with the putas and lumias of the streets and the stage, they, compared to his reactions now, had merely been knotholes in a fence. Their simulated attempts at passion were as child's play compared with this flaming volcanic eruption of love under him, that loved every inch of him and for whom he had regard such as he had never before known.
She was as vital to him now as life itself. He must never let her go from his sight.
She, too, was thinking the same thing. And when she told him her thoughts, the while he was pumping his cock into her, they sealed their marriage, as it were, with a pure lipkiss that was devoid of the customary passion and tricks that they practiced.
Again La Tarantula became aware of the closeness of another orgasm.
Again she whispered to El Gallo that she was going to come. Again he prepared himself so that he could come into her the moment he felt her body stiffen under him with her legs wrapped around his legs, her hands clutching his torso, her tongue amorously searching for contact with his tongue.
Again they flooded each other with bliss. Their bodies churned in the throes of the passionate maelstrom. His cock bolted in and out like a stallion. Her cunt received it avidly, sucking its entire length into its cavity. They laboured in panted breaths. And then they receded into the afterfuck that comes as a postlude to passion and lay still, their hearts beating, bodies electric with love, their limbs quivering in the wake of their excitement.
For a while, El Gallo allowed the shrivelled cock to remain in her cunt and wallow in the fluids there. But soon he turned over on his back and stared up at the ceiling, the while he played with her breasts.
At that point, they heard the sound of voices approaching.
Immediately, El Gallo leaped up from the bed, helping La Tarantula to her feet, too. She scampered into a side room with her dress. When she returned calm and composed, but her cheeks flushed, she saw Zurito and a number of others of El Gallo's cuadrilla of aides imploring with him as he adjusted his trouser flap. Zurito was helping him on with his elaborate jacket and cape.
'They are demanding El Gallo!' he begged.
'Then it will be El Gallo they shall get!' he said, preparing to leave. He took La Tarantula in his arms and kissed her. 'Boys!' he said, 'this is to be the future Senora El Gallo!' Then he swept out of the room crying,
'A los toros! to the bulls!'
When La Tarantula found herself once more in her box, she discovered that the picador Zurito had mounted his rangy horse and was preparing his long lance like pic for the bull. Her El Gallo was standing to one side watching the proceedings. Her heart went out to him when she recalled the hectic half hour they had just spent together.
Then she saw him place himself behind a flat plank shelter jutting out of the barrera. One of the officials, the alguacil, rode over to the president's box and asked for the key to the red door behind which the bull to be killed was waiting. He caught the thrown key in his plumed hat as the crowd clapped. Then he rode over to the bullpen where he gave the key to the doorkeeper. Ring servants smoothed down the hoof prints of the horse. El Gallo stood behind his burladero. Two banderilleros, one on each side of the ring, stood against the fence. It was very quiet now. La Tarantula's heart beat faster because she realized that this was all for her lover, El Gallo, whose name had just been shouted to the skies by the excited fans. The president gave his signal with a wave of his white handkerchief. The trumpet sounded.
And an old white bearded man unlocked the door of the toril where the champing bull was penned, pulling heavily on it.
The bull came bellowing out of the toril. La Tarantula gasped. It was the Miura bull of last night! It was the bull that she had allowed to fuck her. A deep sense of shame crept over her. But this was changed immediately when she saw that El Gallo, too, had recognized the Miura. For he looked up to where she was seated and waved to her. He would avenge this insult with the death of this bull, he would kill it cleanly and neatly and with dispatch.
One of the banderilleros ran across the course trailing a cape. The bull followed the cape. Then the matador El Gallo stepped out from his shelter. Standing in front of the bull, he waved the cape. El Gallo began to put him through his paces. He cited him from the front, standing still as the bull charged, and with his arms moving the cape slowly just ahead of the bull's horns, passing the bull's horns close by his body with a slow movement of the cape, seeming to keep him controlled in the folds of the cape, bringing him past his body each time as he turned and recharged. He did this five times and then finished off with a swirl of the cape that turned his back on the bull, thus cutting the bull's charge brusquely and fixing him to the spot.
La Tarantula thrilled when she saw her man, puny compared to the huge hulking beast, playing tricks with the animal, it being completely at his mercy. And when she saw the dangling sac of the bull's balls, she thrilled in the knowledge that her man, too, was endowed with almost as large a ball-sac, and, to top it off, he had three instead of two balls. Thoughts such as this made her squirm, for a hot spot appeared in the region of her cunny and she became riggish for the feel of El Gallo's prick.
The three acts of the bullfight had begun in earnest now. Picadors on horses, armed with long spiked poles, prodded the point of the pole into the muscle hump of the bull, enraging it to a point of madness.
Three horses were gored by the bull, their entrails trailing out from their guts like a string of ribbon. Soon they were covered by canvases and the ring made ready for the second act, that of banderillas long sticks of about a yard long with a harpoon-shaped steel point. These were placed two at a time in the humped muscle at the top of the bull's neck as he charged the banderillas who held them. They, too, were designed to slow up the bull and regulate his carriage. Four pairs of banderilleras were stuck into the bull.
Then El Gallo came out of his burladero. Directly to the spot beneath La Tarantula he came and there dedicated the ear of the bull to her, his espoused one. The audience cheered them both when they heard this announcement. Word of the news travelled through the ring. But the bull was to be killed. Bowing again, El Gallo backed away to prepare for his work with the muleta, a scarlet cloth folded over a stick which has a sharp spike at one end and a handle at the other. The matador uses this to master the bull, preparing him for a killing and finally holding it in his left hand to lower the bull's head and keeping it lowered while he kills the animal with a sword thrust high up between his shoulder blades.
El Gallo went through the whole rigmarole of the matador's craft with the aplomb of the master that he was. Time after time, after a difficult trick, the audience would applaud his daring, marvelling at the grace he displayed in avoiding the mad rushes of the bull, imploring with him at times not to take such risks in allowing the bull's horns to brush so closely to his stomach. But El Gallo was reborn. He had found his first love. He was displaying his prowess before her right now. The peacock struts its finery in front of the female. And so, El Gallo strutted his knowledge for La Tarantula.
Then came the time for the killing. The bull, dazed by the tricks of the matador, stood square on his four feet facing the man who was about five feet away from him, his feet together, his muleta in his left hand and the sword which he had drawn out of a leather scabbard in his right. El Gallo raised the muleta to see whether the bull followed it with his eyes. Then he lowered the cloth, held it and the sword together, then turned so that he was standing sideways toward the bull, made a twist with his left hand that unfurled the cloth over the stick of the muleta, drew the sword up from the lowered muleta and sighted along it to the bull, his head, the blade of the sword and his left shoulder pointing toward the bull, the muleta held low in his hand. El Gallo drew himself up taut and started toward the bull. Immediately, the bull charged the man.
La Tarantula held her breath. She saw the hulking beast charging her lover. She saw El Gallo lower his muleta, thus lowering the head of the bull. Then he shot his right arm forward, the sword entering the exact spot atop the bull's neck.
Suddenly, a flicker of wind swept the cloth of the muleta upward.
Instantly the bull's head followed the wind raised cloth. Squarely into El Gallo's guts the cruel, jagged horns of the Miura went. Impaled on the horn, El Gallo went upward. When the bull's head came down, El Gallo rolled off. The bull again rushed forward, nuzzling the prostrate figure with his bloodied horn so that El Gallo's guts issued from his belly in a pool of blood.
The audience groaned. The bull bellowed once and then fell over on its back, dead, the sword having finally done its work.
