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.