Don De V - La Tarantula an Erotic Tale of Spain

Back and forth the prick went inside of her like a ramrod into a cannon, like a piston into a cylinder, pumping love friction into her, exciting the delicate walls of her vagina, sliding along her clitoris and bringing her to even greater passion. Her eyeballs popped out. Her lips fell open a trifle as she expectantly awaited the signal in her that would warn her that an orgasm was imminent. Her fingers now clutched his body. Soon, they would be digging into his flesh.

Soon came immediately. Before she knew it, she was in the middle of her orgasm. Through her, in short spasmodic jerks, waves of sensations seethed, pumping exotically in her veins, throbbing in her temples, causing her to breathe labouredly. Her belly began to move like a mass of jelly. Her thighs took on a furious motion. Her ass wound itself around, attempting to throw the bulk of his prick deeper into the chasm of her cunt. And although her loins seethed, although she realized that it was but a matter of moments before she would have to come her pearly fluid, she made an effort to withhold the climax so that she could come simultaneously with the monk.

Thankfully, finally, she felt his body stiffen under her grasp. His rhythmic pumpings became more furious. His hips sank themselves deeply into her cunt with no care for her comfort. His hands went around her back and squeezed her unmercifully so that the stillpainful welts of the whipping cut into her like knife thrusts. But the pleasure of passion superseded the pain which remained in the background, adding zest to the overflow of sensations. His lips sank down to hers. She opened her mouth widely so that his entire mouth sank into it. A suction resulted and their tongues became as one tongue and their saliva became as one fluid.

And then they came, exactly at the same time, the fluid of their organs combining in her overheated quim. Faster and more furious he pumped his prick. But the orgasm was over. Gradually, it grew softer and limper. Finally, it lay in her cunt, quiescent. La Tarantula lay in a state of coma almost. The extreme exertions she had made in the orgasm had left her weak. And that, coupled with her whipping and the tortures of the rack, made her he back on her pillow almost unconscious of her surroundings, merely cognizant of the fact that she was divinely happy once more because she had again been fucked by a man.

But the man was thinking other thoughts. Already, doubts and misgivings began to assail him. Now that the fuck was over, as a monk he began to revile himself for having forgotten his vows. The ascetic came to the fore. His eyes again took on the glare of a fanatic's. Slowly he lifted himself away from La Tarantula's body. He stared down at her twitching hole. There it was where the devil resided. She it was who was responsible for his having given in to the importunings of the devil.

A leer came to his face. Hatred supplanted the features of love. Slowly he stepped away from the bed and onto the floor. He must continue with his vowed purpose. In a dream, he had been told that he must do away with this foul creature, this despicable killer of men's bodies and souls.

He walked over to a corner of the room and took up a small hamper from it. Then he advanced to the white outstretched body on the bed, lying calmly now in the afterglow of bliss that comes after a supremely delightful fuck. For a second, he hesitated in his resolve. But he recalled his vows. And he unhooked the cover of the basket and tipped it over. From its mouth dropped a mass of wriggling, manylegged, hairy insects, some of them almost an inch long. Straight onto the hairy cunt they fell, swarming over her like a horde of soldiers, nipping deeply into her flesh and filling her with the virus of their poison. La Tarantula, deep in her coma, felt their nips like needlethrusts. She felt the burning flame of their poison seeping into her bloodstream. And she knew that she was going to die. But she did nothing. Because now she wanted to die. She had lived. She had loved.

She had fucked. Death was the next adventure. And so she did not rouse herself out of her sleep, but succumbed gradually, until she passed out completely.

She did not know that some of the tarantulas had slipped down to the floor, where they attached themselves to the bare feet of the monk as he stood at her side and watched the awful ravage of the tarantulas.

She did not know that the monk sank down to the floor in pain and anguish the while more of the tarantulas slipped from the bed onto his body.

She did not know that, for the last time, La Tarantula had struck again.