felt her ass wiggle around and up and back. He bent his head and kissed her on the lips and tongued her mouth as he had done a thousand times before that. And then he came, ignominiously came before the girl under him had a chance to become acclimated to the limp prick that he had inserted into her.
'More! more!' she wailed as she tried to take hold of the little thing and place it back into her cunny. But it was too small for any such action again. It lay wrinkled up into its bag like a dead eye, emotionless and expressionless, like a frog on a toadstool. For half an hour, Don Otero vainly attempted to work himself up to a fucking pitch again. But it was to no avail. He had come. The while the little bundle of fire under him ached for another fuck, yearned for a good stiff prick to shoot into her gaping cunny.
Once she took it into her mouth and kissed it. But there was no use, the thing was as dead as yesterday's bullring horse that had been gored by a bull. In desperation, the old man reversed positions so that his head was between her legs and his face was face down between the hairs of her cunt. Then, separating the lips of her vagina with his fingers, he inserted his tongue deep into the cleft until he found the throbbing button. Taking it into his mouth, he sucked deeply at it, noting with satisfaction that it stiffened under his lickings. Up and back his tongue shot into her. He felt her ass twirl once more. Once again the motions of fucking came into her hips and loins as though she was feeling in her the long lance of her uncle. And she felt the same emotions as she had felt when she had dreamed of the young bu'ne at night. That is, although she knew that the boiling in her loins was soon to come, although she realized that soon she was going to feel the wet fluid splashing inside her, she was going to feel that something was going to be missing.
Finally, she did come, full into the face of Otero who was working his tongue like mad into her cunt and around her clitoris. Once, twice, three times she felt the delicious spasms go through her and she felt herself spurting fire and passion. Afterwards, she sighed deeply and moaned and relaxed back against the pillows as though in sleep.
Slowly, very slowly, the old man lifted himself away from the girl. Then he stood up and away from the bed. He stared down at the little quim still pulsating from the exertions that it had just undergone, the hairs around it still dewy with the pearly drops that had spurted from her.
Then he looked down at his own helpless little penis dangling like a misshapen worm. And he knew that he was an old man. He knew that, thereafter, life would hold nothing more for him. He was dead. His
body still lived, but the spirit had died. It had taken the little gypsy girl to bring him to his senses. There was no sense in living any more.
For more gypsy girls would be brought to him to be taught something of his genius of the dance. And they would all taunt him with their little breasts and virgin cunts. And he would be forced to endure the torture for the rest of his life knowing that he could not satisfy them nor himself. Life was one great big fornication. While it lasted, it was pleasure. After it was over, there was only death ahead of him.
So taking one last look at the young girl lying outstretched on the bed, he bent over and kissed her on her forehead. Then, slowly, he turned around and left the room.
That was the last that La Tarantula ever saw of him. Lying back on her pillows, exhausted from her day's work in the dance patio, tired from her recent orgasm and disappointment, she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep. Once she thought she heard a dull thud in the room next to hers. And she sat up in bed and listened for further sounds. But all she heard was the gentle plashing of the water in the fountain of the patio outside. Once more she lay back in the pillows and tried to sleep. But sleep would not come. For in her mind there hovered the nightmare of an enormous prick, the prick of her uncle Chato Doble, and she imagined its great length working its way deeply into her, separating her body into halves, spreading her apart in a tearing, ripping frenzy.
She tried to console herself by recalling the details of the prick, as much as she could remember. She recalled the foreskin pulled back over its head with an eye winking solemnly at her. She recalled thick blue veins that coursed up and down the member swollen with the life blood that was being pumped into it, pendulant with heavy balls. She recalled how it tapered from its point down to its butt until, at its end, it was like a formidable cudgel. And with the picture of that prick in her mind's eye, she heard a slight noise at the side of her bed. She opened her eyes and saw jutting out immediately in front of her what she thought was the selfsame prick that she had been dreaming of. In the dark gloom, it seemed as though the prick was a separate entity in itself, entirely devoid of a human body to which it should have been attached. For the moment, she thought that she was dreaming and that she was seeing only her uncle's prick in her dream. But, soon, she began to discern the outline of a man behind the prick. Then she heard a low toned voice.
'Sh!' it said, 'do not be afraid, for it is I, Don Juan Gandulla.'
The girl's eyes were on nothing but the outlines of the enormous prick that jutted out in front of him. Line for line, bag for bag, eye for eye, it corresponded with the prick that she had envisioned so often in her dreams.
'I could not stand it any longer!' Don Juan whispered as he advanced toward her. 'All day long I watched your beautiful body dancing and a symphony of music swept across my mind and the symphony I knew was you!'
'Don't speak!' she said to him softly, as she drew him down to her. She entrapped his lips in hers and sucked up his breath in a great heave.
And as he lay against her she felt the throbbing of the giant organ between them. Again and again she kissed his lips, his eyes, his nose, nipping them gently from time to time, sighing softly her full content.
When she felt mat she had had enough of his lips, she took his head between her hands and said, 'Now! now!' and she closed her eyes and leaned back and awaited the first galvanic contact of his prick with her cunt. The intervening second appeared to be an aeon. And involuntarily, she heaved a sigh of impatience. But at the same moment, she felt the first insertion of the head of her lover's cock. And oh! the wonder of it! oh! the marvel of it! oh the enraptured throbs of pure unadulterated unalloyed bliss that roved over every nerve fibre in her body and filled every cell in her bloodstream with a tingling such as she never knew existed before.
This was love!
This was life!
This was a man!
Slowly, Don Juan inserted his penis, knowingly giving her as much pleasure as was possible from every inch of his great organ. Inexorably, she felt the pressing surge of it insinuating itself into the entire lower portion of her body, spreading her wide apart, opening her completely to him for his entry. She could stand her inactivity no longer. Throwing her chest out, she threw her breasts directly into his face.
'Suck them! suck them!' she commanded.
Lovingly, he took first one nipple into his mouth and then another nipple, caressing each one with his tongue, feeling the erectile tissues in them slowly stiffening. And slowly, in and out, he thrust and rethrust his prick, noting with an immense satisfaction that she was as tight a cunt as he had ever experienced in his whole life of fucking. He could feel the smooth slippery walls of her vagina gently stroking against the sides of his penis with an insistence that made him doubt the capacities that he had in withholding the spurt of his semen.
Suddenly, the girl knew that she was going to have an orgasm. A boiling up as of a thousand fountains seethed within her. Eagerly, she threw her arms around Don Juan's back. Hungrily, she cemented her lips to his, entwining her tongue in his, exploring the very essences of his mouth. Passionately, she wrapped her slim legs around his loins, locking her feet behind his back and squeezing with all her might.
Then, her muscles tensed, her nerves shrieking madly, her blood boiling and pulsating in every little vein of her, she awaited the grand climax of her passion.
It came as with a tidal surge.
Engulfed in an overwhelming orgasm, she felt oceans of sheer joy and pleasure coursing through her and around her and over her. And the hotspot between her legs grew hotter from the hot juices that flowed into it. Out of sheer passion, she bit deeply into Don Juan's shoulder, leaving the tiny red marks of her teeth impressed in the flesh.
La Tarantula had struck again.
But neither of them was aware of that. For, after her orgasm, as through a hazy dream, the girl realized that deep within her cunt, the stiff prick of her lover was still charging rampantly, eagerly anxious for another joust.
Here was a man!
Again she gave herself over to the fuck. Again she gave her teats to him, throwing the nipples into his face, kissing his lips with wild abandonment. And as he pumped his prick up and back inside of her, she felt horribly inadequate because he was doing all of the work.
