Don De V - La Tarantula an Erotic Tale of Spain

"Please!" she said finally, "I must get rid of this load that is piling up inside of me!"

El Gallo only shrugged his shoulders.

Then La Tarantula borrowed some of the surliness from her lover. She, too, assumed a mask of glum dourness and eyed the erotic proceedings with hatred, her nostrils distending like a stallion's, her eyes flaming with hatred.

Soon, a number of couples, having blown off their nuts already, arose from the floor and went at the aguardiente bottles again with a renewed vigour. The entire group was shortly on its feet with the exception of the original pair that had performed on the table. By that time, with his expert tonguing, the girl had brought the man's prick to its hardness again. But they were in a very peculiar position on the floor. Instead of assuming the customary position, they had reversed it.

For her head was pumping up and down, her mouth wrapped securely around his enlarged cock. But his head and face were sunk deep into the cleft of her legs, immersed in the hairs of her cunt the while his tongue manoeuvred itself in and out of her hole and licked her clitoris, already stiffening from her second arousing to passion.

Up and down went the girl's head on his penis. In and out went his face into her cunt. And again, others grouped themselves around this performing couple and huzzahed and cheered as they sweated themselves into another orgasm. The guitarist came down from his dais and started a fast-moving malagueha. The stamping of feet and clapping of hands accompanied the music. But, while the others were all engrossed in the sight on the floor, El Gallo and La Tarantula, seated across from each other at one table, smouldered now in a newborn hatred for each other.

Suddenly, Zurito, the picador, came running into the room. His wild hair streamed in all directions about his head. "Comrades! comrades!" he called out, holding his hands up in the air for silence. All turned their attention from the couple on the floor to Zurito.

"Comrades and girls!" Zurito continued, "we have prepared the bull Vibora, the Viper, one of the Miura bulls, for the greatest fuck of the evening. Come! follow me!" And, with these words, he exited, followed by the rest of the company. Caught in the movement of the rest, both El Gallo and La Tarantula were pushed forward with the crowd into the barn behind the tavern. There they saw a most peculiar sight. Strapped up in a number of braces and leather saddles was an enormous black Miura bull. His black coat glistened under the torch-lights like a satin sheen. His mad wicked little eyes boiled hatred for the puny little men who had trussed him up in such a ridiculous fashion. For only his hind legs were touching the floor and they had been anchored down to two iron rings with heavy chains. The forelimbs and the entire front part of his body had been drawn up on a sort of pulley contrivance so that he looked like a rearing horse, but permanently reared. His front legs had been chained too, so that he could not do any damage with them. And directly under his belly, right under a long hair-covered projection at the rear, was a wooden pallet covered with mats and sacks and rags.

"The bullfuck!" one of the men yelled.

"Hurray!" another shouted, "what woman is going to be fucked by the bull?"

Before any other woman could make reply, a flaming figure stepped into the lighted circle where the helpless bull stood trussed up. It was La Tarantula. Her eyes burned hatred. Her little fists were clenched up. She turned to where El Gallo was standing and, as though talking solely to him, she said, "If I cannot get a man to fuck me when I want him to fuck me, then perhaps I can get a dumb beast, a bull, to satisfy me!"

Saying this, she drew her dress up over her head and showed that she had donned nothing else but the dress, for she was stark naked. Lights from the reflections of the torches glinted over the highspots of her contours like fireflies. All the men looked at her and envied the man who could fuck her and the bull who was going to enjoy her, too. They eyed the proud firm breasts that asserted their superiority in no uncertain contours. They marked the gentle slope of her waist as it tapered out to her hips, and they swore mightily because they could not feel her velvet flesh nestling between their own thighs. They noted the stark outflare of her perfectly paired buttocks shaping down to the finely chiselled shapeliness of her thighs. They saw the mount of Venus abundantly vegetated with finespun dark hair barely shadowing the tight cunny settled deeply into its odorous thickets. But, worst of all, they saw her lower herself to the pallet and spread her legs triumphantly for the enormous prick of the Miura bull.

Had Zurito not been drunk, he would never have done as he did.

Perhaps he was not as drunk as he purported to be. Perhaps he was determined to separate his master, El Gallo, from the toils of this arch creature, La Tarantula, who had already left a stream of dead lovers in her wake. Anyhow, he did see El Gallo's face standing out in the gloom at the fringe of the excited onlookers. It was like a madman's grimace, a gargoyle's horrid countenance, violently distorted by hatred and jealousy and anger.

But Zurito continued what he had already started.

Taking a small package from his pocket, he poured a flicker of the greenish powder onto a bit of moistened bread. Taking this, he stepped on a ladder which had been adjusted close to the bull's head and climbed up so that he could reach the bull's mouth. Then he fed the soggy bread to the bull who seized it avidly and munched it so quickly that it was swallowed immediately.

"Spanish fly!" one of the men whispered to his girlfriend. "It will make the bull crazy for a fuck!"

By this time, Zurito had descended from the ladder and had placed himself at the rear of the bull, his eyes glued to the tuft of hair under the bull's belly from which there would soon emerge a naked rampant pizzle, a virgin prick that had never felt the inside of a cow's cunt. Bulls for the bullfights are not allowed to cohabit with cows. This abstinence makes them all the more fierce and therefore more appropriate for fighting. At times, Zurito found his gaze wandering from the bull's tuft to the woman's tuft, spread out wide open in front of him awaiting the entrance of the bull. For the moment, he felt a pang of displeasure go

through him. Why waste that marvellous cunny on an unfeeling beast? Why not throw yourself onto her and ram her with your own prick which was already hardened in your pants? he argued with himself. But he looked up and saw the basilisk glare of El Gallo in the gloom, hideous in the intensity of its mordant hatred. And he transferred his gaze from the woman to the bull. In a short while he saw life stirring in the vicinity of the bull's prick. Its rear feet stamped nervously on the wooden floor. The chains rattled in their rings. Its front feet pawed the air like a boxer's feints. Its eyes increased in size almost twofold, a red rage creeping into the pupils. Its nostrils widened and closed like a bellows, hot air pouring forth in a wheeze from the holes.

A white foam formed at its mouth and bubbled down in excess on the floor.

Suddenly, from the tuft of hairs there emerged a pinkishly white prick, not exactly thick but almost needle like in its length. Longer and longer it grew as Zurito leaned forward and pulled up and back at the flapped skin on the sides of the enlarging prick. Occasionally he would stroke the enormous ball-sac that dangled between the legs.

Meanwhile, La Tarantula lay back quiescently on her haunches, waiting for the entree. She lifted her head and saw the head of the prick forming between the tufts. Farther back she saw something familiar. It was the bull's balls. Immediately, she recalled the sac of El Gallo. And she twisted her head in order to get a better view of his evil, malign face gleaming down at her, alive with the snakes of hatred in his eyes, coupled with an insidious gleam of jealousy. She showed her teeth in a mocking smile and her laugh resounded through the wooden rafters. The others set up a mad cheering and a stamping and a whistling as the bull's prick grew larger and larger.