she was entirely nude. Her young girlish figure stood out like a piece of vivified alabaster. As she
stepped cautiously, softly into the light, her tiny breasts jiggled sensuously so that more than one old man in the audience sucked the breath through his teeth with the bitterness of impotency. Hesitantly she danced around the figure of La Tarantula on the floor, wondering why she was there. Then, as the music took on tempo, she became more sure of herself. Taking a drape of La Tarantula's in her hand, she lifted it away from the tired body. One breast of the dancer rolled free, its flesh quivering as it fell away from the confines of the cloth. Again the young girl lifted another drape away from La Tarantula's body. The other breast rolled free, shaking gelatinously with freedom. The girl allowed the two drapes to flutter softly to the floor.
Piece after piece the girl lifted away from La Tarantula until it became quite obvious to the spectators that the gypsy dancer was now as naked as her dancing partner. At this point the soft sad music took a turn. It became more animated. Life crept into it like the warmth of the morning sun into a cold room. A quiver went through her. Her arms moved slightly. Then her legs moved. And then her head. Soon, every part of her was moving, weaving and twisting as she sat seated on her haunches. And, around her, her young protegee danced gracefully, pleading with her as it were to enter into the spirit of the dance with her. Soon, La Tarantula had arisen from her sitting position and was dancing with La Niobe. But this was an entirely different dance than had ever been performed before. Now, instead of interpreting in her dance the sexual act with man, she was doing the same for woman.
Round and round her hips rolled as though she were inviting the hairy cunny part of the young girl, La Niobe, to come closer so that she could rub her own hot cunt into it. Hotter and hotter the music became. Their eyes rolled. Their fingers twitched Closer and closer their bodies approached each other, the naked flesh gleaming in the lone light. A mad, bad note took hold of the music. Strange, esoteric rites were suggested by it. The weeping wailing of disembowelled ghosts crept into it.
Soon, the pair of quivering naked bodies were almost together. Their bodies shook. Their shoulders shook. And as they shook the nipples of their breasts touched each other as they swung from side to side. The contact made them stand up stiffly. Closer and closer the breasts closed in with each other. And the bodies were soon touching. Soon, with all the fervour of a love bout, of a perfect manfuck, they were rubbing their cunts together with a series of moans and ahs and ohs that seemed to have found life in an overwhelming passion. Faster and faster they whirled their abdomens, rubbing each other's pubic sections so that it seemed that sparks were made by the friction. When it seemed that they could stand the contacts no longer, they suddenly seized hold of each other tightly around each other's waist and danced together, whirling their buttocks now, kissing each other on all parts of their bodies, moaning and weeping. The music wailed on. The dance continued. With one heart deep scream from La Tarantula, the pair fell to the ground still in each other's embrace. There they licked at each other's breasts and, when they could contain themselves no longer, reversed their positions so that La Tarantula's head was between the legs of La Niobe and vice versa. Then, timed to the beat of the music, they sent their heads and their tongues bobbing into the hot cuntboxes of each other's hotspots, wrapping the tips of their tongues around the stiffening clitorises of their cunnies.
The music rose to a higher pitch. Their bodies were soon in the throes of a double orgasm. Their heads still bobbed between their legs. The young girl La Niobe was the first to experience her orgasm. She let out a scream as though she were suffering the most severe tortures. Her thighs trembled. Her eyes popped. Her fingers clutched the hair of her partner. At the same moment, La Tarantula felt herself give way. And she, too, came, inundating the face of La Niobe with a sweet delicious flood of fluid. They quivered, they panted, they shook in passion. And, all the while, the sensuous music throbbed on, accentuating their movements so that they took on the grotesqueness of puppets.
The men in the audience became restless. Some had reached into the folds of their trousers and were tugging at their arisen members.
Others could just about keep themselves from leaping onto the dais to separate the two women and show them that they were made for the pleasure of man and not woman. But, in his corner, the dark-skinned Berber stared at the proceedings with his half-closed eyes and smiled enigmatically to himself.
The music stopped almost as abruptly as it had begun. The two women lay together on the stage in each other's embrace, resting from their labours. At the same time, an immense veil floated down from the ceiling covering their naked bodies. Then the lights were completely extinguished. A moment later, when they were turned on, the stage was seen to be bare of the two women and, in their places, were the musicians about to sing and play love songs.
A deafening thunder of applause greeted the lights. And the clapping continued. But neither of the women returned to the stage. For that matter, neither of them ever returned to the stage. Almost as if by magic, the young girl was whisked away by a group of sinister coffeecollared individuals in burnouses. La Tarantula was seized as she stepped into her room. A gag was placed around her mouth. Then she felt herself being carried downstairs. Exhausted from her dancing, she lost consciousness. When she came to, she found herself resting on a divan in an immense, richly furnished room. With the exception of a filmy diaphanous gown, she was naked. As she opened her eyes, she saw seated across from her a darkened, narrow-eye-slitted Arabian.
'You are awake!' he said.
She nodded her head. Instantly he clapped his hands together and a number of Negroes appeared, bearing trays of choice steaming viands and wines. They dined. When La Tarantula was satisfied, she asked the Arabian the reason for her being seized so summarily. Dryly, the Arabian said, 'Need I tell you why I want you?' His eyes roamed over her body and caressed her breasts and the hair-rimmed cunt barely visible through the filmy gown.
Again, the Arabian clapped his hands. This time, the Negroes brought in two pipes. 'Hasheesh!' the Arabian explained, as he tendered one of
the pipes to La Tarantula. She accepted it hesitantly. 'Do not be afraid,' he said. 'It will give you strange but pleasant dreams!'
'But why must I smoke hasheesh?' she asked.
'Because I would fuck you!' the Arabian answered.
'But why the hasheesh?' she continued.
As if in reply, the Arab turned the flap of his gown aside and uncovered the region of his penis. There, nestling in a wad of hair, La Tarantula saw the cock of a boy of ten, like a little worm, seemingly inadequate for intercourse even with a rabbit.
As though he read the puzzling question in her features, the Arab explained. 'Hasheesh gives you dreams of exaggeration. Everything around you takes on an enormous stature.'
La Tarantula needed no more explanation. Taking the preferred lighted pipe, she inserted the stem into her mouth as she lay reclining on her elbow on a mattress of soft pillows on the divan. Taking in one deep puff of the smoke, she inhaled deeply, allowing the acrid fumes to sink into her lungs, almost choking from it. Seated across the room she saw the Arabian preparing his own pipe, stuffing the tiny bowl of his pipe with the fine golden greenish-tinged power called bhang but known as hasheesh. 'I shall smoke only one pipe for company with you,' he said, 'after that, I shall drink it in my coffee for smoking it has no effect on me!'
Lying on her elbow, La Tarantula felt an hilarious laugh running through her body. Something about what the Arabian had said sounded uproariously funny. And she gave vent to a loud laugh which subsided into a series of giggles.
The Arabian watched her through guarded narrow eyes and nodded his head. He knew that this was the effect of the first stage of hasheesh smoking. Soon she would be holding her sides with laughter, roaring at any chance remark that he might make, imagining that every word he spoke was marvellously humorous. But La Tarantula was laughing at something else besides what she thought was the Arabian's wit. She was laughing because she wondered what the poor fellow was going to do with that little, up-up thing he called his cock. And, as she tried to imagine it being inserted into her cunt, she knew that it would be lost in her hole like a needle in a haystack.
Deeper and deeper she puffed the fumes of the pipe. And with each puff, she seemed to feel that her body was shrinking up within her and that her surroundings were gradually taking on the proportions of a giant's room. A plant in one corner seemed to appear like an enormous swaying palm tree. A tinkling fountain in the patio that she could just about glimpse through Moorish archways in the other room was a gigantic display of waterworks thrusting an immense needle of water into a great spray from which there roared the sound of a Niagara waterfall. Outside, a horse and cart jogged over the cobblestones on the street. But what she heard was a mighty rumble of
