At eleven o'clock that night they were awakened by a pounding on the door. Hilarious voices came to them from the hallway. "Open up! open!" they heard. And when the door was opened, Zurito the picador and all the other pics and banderilleros tumbled into the room in all stages of intoxication, all hugging some wench they had picked up in the cafe downstairs.
"We are going to see the bulls!" Zurito cried out, "are you with us, El Gallo?"
"Perro!" the matador cursed, "get out of this room before I kill you all!"
But La Tarantula had already leaped out of the bed and was adjusting her headdress. "No! we shall go, too, El Gallo! I want to see the great bulls that my El Gallo is going to kill tomorrow at the bullfight!"
El Gallo's face dropped. He had wanted to remain the night with his newly found love. But the others were too drunkenly insistent that he accompany them. Besides, La Tarantula was also desirous of going with them. "I shall go if you shall promise to appear tomorrow at the ring to see me kill them," he cried.
La Tarantula gaily promised. Then, locking her arms in El Gallo's elbow, she pushed at the roistering company. "Come! to the bulls!" she cried.
"To the bulls!" the others all screamed as they turned and exited down the steps and through the cafe, some of them seizing bottles of wine and aguardiente from the tables and waving them in their hands and lurching drunkenly out into the Calle de la Serpiente, their arms around their girls.
The night had been quiet before they came out into it. But they bruised the silence with their shrieks and cries and ribald songs. Down the entire length of the street they went, on past the barracks, past the brewery, past the jailhouse, until they came to the Guadalquivir river.
There, in a number of boats, they were ferried across the river to the Triana section, La Tarantula's birthplace, in which the Plaza de los Toros, the place of the bulls, was located. On past the Plaza they lurched, until they came to a rustic spot in the outskirts of the section. It was the farm where the bulls for the next day's fight were being taken care of. Here, the aficionados, the bullfight enthusiasts, gather the day before the bullfight to comment on the bulls to be killed the next day.
Most of them go there to talk to the bulls, calling huh! huh! huh! to them and imagining that, because the bull widened his nostrils and jerked his head toward the speaker, he had held conversation with him.
It was there that the drunken group ended up. Most of the others were drunk, but El Gallo and La Tarantula, who had not imbibed as yet, were still sober. For the while they busied themselves in the pens where the bulls were kept. Occasionally, someone would holler out to El Gallo, "That Miura bull will show you how well you can make a veronica!" or, "watch out for that dappled toro! he has a killing look in his eye!"
But El Gallo heard nothing. As the others milled around him, the men hollering, the women giggling from their drinks, he held on to the arm of La Tarantula and was glum and silent. She, however, being a gypsy, fell into the gay spirit of the evening. Seizing a bottle of wine from someone, she drained it at a gulp, the wine pouring down from the corners of her mouth onto her flimsy dress. Soon, she became as wild as the rest of them. Time and again she took a swig of fiery aguardiente, each drink making her drunker than ever. But she was a gypsy. In her there burned blood that demanded that she cast care to the winds, that she throw herself into the spirit of joy and untrammelled carefree happiness. And the more she tried to ply El Gallo with drinks, the more glum he became, refusing the offers. Yet, each offer that he refused, she, in turn, tipped into her own gullet.
And the rest of the company were doing the same thing. Their stock of wine and aguardiente had been refurbished at the little vente that stood at the corner of the pens where there were tables and chairs for any who cared to sit. And when they grew tired of roistering about the pens, goading the bulls until they charged the wooden fences and sometimes splintered their horns, they finally retired to the vente, where they seated themselves at the tables and were soon opening new bottles of wine.
Off in a corner, Zaralito had worked his cigarette girl onto the floor.
There, he was babbling to her that she suck his cock. She, with just about enough in her to take the dare, suddenly demanded that if he would stand on the table, she would suck his cock right there in front of the whole group. Zaralito tried to turn the offer down with disgust. But the others had heard the proposition and they leaped up and demanded that he go through with the bargain. At first Zaralito demurred. But under the threats of dire murder from his friends, he sheepishly condescended to go through with the performance.
Somebody helped him up onto one of the tables, as he was too drunk to negotiate the step himself. A guitarist in the rear struck up a fast jota.
The men stamped in rhythm while the women clapped, heightening the excitement all the more.
Then, amidst a general clamour of laughter and a hullabaloo of advice and drunken taunts, the drunken cigarette girl arose from her chair and stepped over to the drunken Zaralito, swaying on his tabletop.
Slowly, she inserted her hands into the flap of his trousers. For a moment she could not seem to find that for which she was seeking. But a light suddenly came to her eyes as she made the catch. In no time, she had a limp prick hanging in front of the man. The company howled at the sight of the thing. There was not enough there to fill a dog's mouth, they screamed. Others cried to the girl to get herself a real man.
But, evidently, the girl was a professional. She saw that, despite the present size of the penis, there were a number of folds in it which indicated that, distended, it could reach a sizeable length. And so, after cocking her head quizzically at it, she went to work on her job. First she inserted her right hand into his trousers again, where she encircled his ball-sac with her fingers, diddling the rough surface with nervous sensitive fingers that sent electric shocks through the staggering picador. Still no rise came from the limp member. This did not disconcert the woman. Immediately, she ducked her head so that her mouth came directly under the tip of the penis. Then she raised her head slowly, opening her mouth at the same time so that, as her mouth came up, the prick slithered into the aperture. At the same time she wrapped her tongue around the tip of the prick, taking in a deep sucking breath. She felt a slight movement in the prick. She realized that, under the influence of alcohol, it would be difficult to bring an erection to the drunken picador. But she was a professional. And, in no time, what with her tickling of his balls and inserting her fingers into his anus where she massaged his prostate gland, she brought the oncelimp cock up to a fairly hard condition. In fact now, instead of hanging its head in shame, it was beginning to jut out like a lance. The head of the penis proper was sticking out slightly from its foreskin and the little eye winked naughtily at the assemblage who were taking in the spectacle now without a sound. All that could be heard was the occasional bellow of a bull outside and the sucking, moist, plupping noises of the girl's mouth filled with saliva as it negotiated the entire distance of the picador's rapidly hardening prick. Slowly, under her tongue, the girl felt the foreskin gradually drawing away from the tip of the prick. Soon, she felt the ridge of the head in her mouth. And a hardness settled into the whole length of the prick. It slid into her mouth with not so much effort as previously. Busily her head bobbed up and back now instead of up and down, for the prick stuck straight out in front of him. Up and back her head bobbed, the prick shooting in and out of her mouth like the piston of a railroad engine.
When she felt that he had reached the apex of hardness, the girl stopped suddenly and pulled away from the six-inch cock standing so proudly now. She looked up at the swaying picador. Then she turned to the company who by this time were applauding her feat drunkenly.
From his vantage point atop the table, Zaralito suddenly called out petulantly, "What shall I do with this thing now that I have it?"
Someone called out, "Fuck the girl now!"
The others took up the cry. "Fuck the girl! fuck the girl!" they ordered, laughing uproariously at the situation of the lanky picador standing above them, his great cock sticking out in front of him.
This time it was the girl who tried to demur. But she was seized by the others. Her dress was torn off of her back, her underclothes stripped completely from her. Then she was lifted to the tabletop next to Zaralito. He looked at her drunkenly, wondering what was going to happen next. She looked charming there. Her long black hair was coiled atop her head, crowned with a high comb. Below that there was nothing on her torso, only two splendid olive-collared breasts with pink nipples winking their eyes in the nickering lamplight of the room.
Lower down the drunk saw a beautiful triangle of dark amid the forest of hairs. He was scarcely able to discern the cleft of the woman. Had she not had on her long opera-length black hose and red high-heeled shoes, perhaps he might not have been induced to go through with the fuckshow. But something in them thrilled him, the suggestiveness perhaps of the half-attire. Anyhow, with a cry of joy, he seized the girl and implanted a rough kiss on her mouth.
"Fuck! don't kiss!" the others hooted.
But he was too drunk to take notice of them.
However, the girl was game to the core. Besides, in the act of sucking him off, she had created a desire in herself for the fuck. And so, although her lips were still glued to his mauling lips, she spread her legs so as to open up her cunt and seized hold of his potent prick. She had to make him bend at the knees so as to facilitate insertion into her cunt. But, with some expert wiggling and facile contortions, she finally managed to wangle his prick into the hole of her cunt so that, with little exertion on his part, he could rapidly withdraw and re-insert his stiffened member.
The guitarist took his cue again from this frenzied act and struck up a wild bolero dance. The feet of the men stamped heavily to the primitive African tomtom beat of the sensual music. The handclaps of the women took on a staccato effect. Then the veil of drunkenness fell away from the man on the table. His prick in contact with the heated cunt of the woman, his instincts came to the fore. In and out he began to shove his prick into the beckoning suction of the moist cleft of flesh between her legs. Rapidly the music took on a barbaric tone, the beat coming with every thrust of the prick. The man seized the woman about the waist. In and out his prick went. Not knowing where he was he bit her lips and cheeks in frenzied passion, still pumping his prick into her, still holding her in an iron grip so that the flesh under his fingers grew white. Louder and louder the stamping of feet grew.
Quicker and quicker the women clapped their hands. The sweat poured from the man's forehead onto the shoulders of the woman and glistened like tiny balls in the lamplight. The drunken men and women, but for the sounds of their hands and feet, had grown very quiet. Their eyes popped from their sockets. Their tongues laved their lips. Their faces twitched from nervous tics brought on by the orgy of lust and passion that was being displayed in front of their very eyes. In themselves, they felt the fires of emotion slowly gathering their forces.
The men felt their pricks harden. The women sensed a glowing in the vicinity of their cunnies, a stiffening of the nipples of their breasts so that they stuck out from their bodices like tiny points. And, like the couple on the table, their breaths started to come in laboured gasps.
Their limbs twitched. Occasionally, one of them would allow a moan to escape from her lips as she ran her tongue over the dry and cracked surfaces of her upper and lower lips.
And still the man on the table poked his member in between the woman's legs so that it seemed as though, with every violent thrust, he would push her over the edge of the table. But, they kept their balance on the table and continued the rhythm of their motions, each twirling their hips, each swinging their buttocks in mad wide circles, receiving when the other thrust and thrusting when the other received. The man's forehead glistened. The woman's breasts shook. The eyes of the drunken mob below them followed every detailed motion lasciviously, the drool from some of their mouths dripping from their chins.
Suddenly, a tenseness seemed to seize the fucking couple. Their furious thrusts seemed to take on an added violence. The man's fingers clutched tighter to the girl's flesh so that she was forced to cry out in pain and in passion. Faster and faster they worked themselves up to a pitch. And those in the audience sensed the imminence of the oncoming orgasm. They saw it in the tensed bodies of the pair on the table locked furiously in each other's embrace. They saw it in the bulging eyes of the man. They saw it in the vehement paroxysms of passion that surged through the woman's body. And they felt it in their own bodies, sensing the climax in the performing pair almost as surely as though the juice were about to spurt within themselves.
Then they heard the woman emit a series of heartrending moans, each moan seemingly coming from the very depths of her plasm. The man clasped her tighter. Her arms flopped ineffectually about like puppets'. His legs propelled more powerful thrusts of his penis into her midsection. Her lips voraciously swallowed up his entire mouth, her tongue engaging his in combat. Convulsion after convulsion tore through them.
Then they came into each other.
And, at the same time, on the floor below them, a drunken banderillero, unable to keep his own passion under check, seized hold of his panting girl and threw her to the floor. There, throwing up her flouncing petticoats, he laid her cunt bare to both his gaze and his prick, which he had already freed from his pants and on which he had been surreptitiously working for the last few minutes. Riotously, as though he were raping a virgin, he spread her legs apart, she falling in with the idea, and taking hold of his prick, she led it into its stall, her avid quivering quim between her legs, wrapping her legs around his back and squeezing as hard as she could the while the man atop of her sank the entire length of his tortured organ into her.
Immediately, other couples, their senses inflamed by what they had seen, seized hold of each other. Soon, the entire floor was a mass of men and women, their varicoloured petticoats flying about them, a dozen pair of black stockinged legs fanning the air, each with a hot, impassioned man astride of them, pumping enlarged pricks into a dozen different waiting holes.
The pair on the table, their fuck complete, slipped down from their perch to the floor where, with his cock once again in her mouth, the pretty cigarette girl was attempting to bring the softened penis again to its height. And as she looked about her and saw the orgy of fucks taking place, the plethora of stiff pricks sinking into hair-guarded abysses of cunts, her head bobbed up and down more energetically and her tongue manipulated itself with an added energy in an attempt to bring the man back to his former vigour.
Moans, sighs, cries, curses; all sorts of noises and sounds came up from the fornicating masses on the ground. And all were fucking, with the exception of El Gallo and La Tarantula. He was still seated glumly at his table, staring at the proceedings disgustedly. La Tarantula, her senses maddened by the sight of the numerous couples fucking right in front of her very eyes, begged him with her eyes to simulate the happy pairs. But El Gallo only stared at her, his eyes smouldering, and refused to throw her on the ground for a grand fuck.
"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.
The bull struggled futilely in its straps. Its actions became wilder and wilder. An enormous wrenching of its heavy haunches shook the building as the heavy hoofs came down to the floor time and again.
Finally, Zurito called out, "Ready!"
La Tarantula prepared herself for the bull.
Zurito seized hold of the long throbbing prick and inserted it slowly into the woman's tiny cunny, tiny in comparison with the hulking cock of the bull. Slowly, Zurito pushed the pallet with La Tarantula on it because he could draw the prick no further now because of the chains that prevented the bull from coming forward any more. The wild gyrations of the bull's haunches took on an elephantine acrobatics. Hot steam poured from the dilated nostrils. Red blood gleamed in the enlarged eyeballs. The straps strained and creaked as the weight of the animal lunged up and back in an attempt to throw his vast weight behind the prick that had been allowed to penetrate only a bit.
"More! more!" La Tarantula demanded.
The onlookers applauded. Zurito carefully pushed the pallet a halfinch closer.
"More!"
Zurito again pushed the pallet closer.
Closer and closer Zurito pushed La Tarantula as she tearfully demanded that he continue to push her so that the bull's cock would go deeper into her than any man's prick had ever been. She felt an enormous thing spreading her legs apart now. Never before had her cunt been filled so completely with cock. And it was a virgin cock that had never before reacted to the sexual pleasures of a female cunt. It was a cock that was alive with strange vibrant animal fire that no man had ever possessed. The very devil himself seemed to be filling her, pushing his way into her as though he were trying to split her apart.
But, behind all of this pleasure, there stood the spectre of her hatred for El Gallo. And she sneered and laughed shrilly in a mad hysterical tone. And as she felt the old familiar boiling-up within her, she cried out, "Fool! El Gallo is a fool!"
Then she knew no more. She only felt. She felt a stupendous rising within her mountains high. She felt an overwhelming surging within her oceans deep. She felt a deep, subversive shuddering go through her entire body. And she let herself go. And as she came and fell into a coma of refulgent beatific happiness, she felt a splashing within her as of a tidal wave of fluid. Between her legs there dripped a hot stream of semen. Above her she saw as in a dream the black satin coat of the bull breathing heavily, going like the sides of a bellows. Snorts of passion from the beast's nostrils came into her consciousness. The rattle of chains. The stamping of hoofs. The obscene cries of the spectators. The clapping of hands.
But when she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the face of El Gallo. Never before had she seen so pitiful a sight. Gone was the hatred. Gone was the basilisk glare. Gone were all signs of the gargoyle. In their place was the sad, disillusioned face of a boy.
La Tarantula wept.