The men in the audience became restless. Some had reached into the folds of their trousers and were tugging at their arisen members.
Others could just about keep themselves from leaping onto the dais to separate the two women and show them that they were made for the pleasure of man and not woman. But, in his corner, the dark-skinned Berber stared at the proceedings with his half-closed eyes and smiled enigmatically to himself.
The music stopped almost as abruptly as it had begun. The two women lay together on the stage in each other's embrace, resting from their labours. At the same time, an immense veil floated down from the ceiling covering their naked bodies. Then the lights were completely extinguished. A moment later, when they were turned on, the stage was seen to be bare of the two women and, in their places, were the musicians about to sing and play love songs.
A deafening thunder of applause greeted the lights. And the clapping continued. But neither of the women returned to the stage. For that matter, neither of them ever returned to the stage. Almost as if by magic, the young girl was whisked away by a group of sinister coffeecollared individuals in burnouses. La Tarantula was seized as she stepped into her room. A gag was placed around her mouth. Then she felt herself being carried downstairs. Exhausted from her dancing, she lost consciousness. When she came to, she found herself resting on a divan in an immense, richly furnished room. With the exception of a filmy diaphanous gown, she was naked. As she opened her eyes, she saw seated across from her a darkened, narrow-eye-slitted Arabian.
"You are awake!" he said.
She nodded her head. Instantly he clapped his hands together and a number of Negroes appeared, bearing trays of choice steaming viands and wines. They dined. When La Tarantula was satisfied, she asked the Arabian the reason for her being seized so summarily. Dryly, the Arabian said, "Need I tell you why I want you?" His eyes roamed over her body and caressed her breasts and the hair-rimmed cunt barely visible through the filmy gown.
Again, the Arabian clapped his hands. This time, the Negroes brought in two pipes. "Hasheesh!" the Arabian explained, as he tendered one of
the pipes to La Tarantula. She accepted it hesitantly. "Do not be afraid," he said. "It will give you strange but pleasant dreams!"
"But why must I smoke hasheesh?" she asked.
"Because I would fuck you!" the Arabian answered.
"But why the hasheesh?" she continued.
As if in reply, the Arab turned the flap of his gown aside and uncovered the region of his penis. There, nestling in a wad of hair, La Tarantula saw the cock of a boy of ten, like a little worm, seemingly inadequate for intercourse even with a rabbit.
As though he read the puzzling question in her features, the Arab explained. "Hasheesh gives you dreams of exaggeration. Everything around you takes on an enormous stature."
La Tarantula needed no more explanation. Taking the preferred lighted pipe, she inserted the stem into her mouth as she lay reclining on her elbow on a mattress of soft pillows on the divan. Taking in one deep puff of the smoke, she inhaled deeply, allowing the acrid fumes to sink into her lungs, almost choking from it. Seated across the room she saw the Arabian preparing his own pipe, stuffing the tiny bowl of his pipe with the fine golden greenish-tinged power called bhang but known as hasheesh. "I shall smoke only one pipe for company with you," he said, "after that, I shall drink it in my coffee for smoking it has no effect on me!"
Lying on her elbow, La Tarantula felt an hilarious laugh running through her body. Something about what the Arabian had said sounded uproariously funny. And she gave vent to a loud laugh which subsided into a series of giggles.
The Arabian watched her through guarded narrow eyes and nodded his head. He knew that this was the effect of the first stage of hasheesh smoking. Soon she would be holding her sides with laughter, roaring at any chance remark that he might make, imagining that every word he spoke was marvellously humorous. But La Tarantula was laughing at something else besides what she thought was the Arabian's wit. She was laughing because she wondered what the poor fellow was going to do with that little, up-up thing he called his cock. And, as she tried to imagine it being inserted into her cunt, she knew that it would be lost in her hole like a needle in a haystack.
Deeper and deeper she puffed the fumes of the pipe. And with each puff, she seemed to feel that her body was shrinking up within her and that her surroundings were gradually taking on the proportions of a giant's room. A plant in one corner seemed to appear like an enormous swaying palm tree. A tinkling fountain in the patio that she could just about glimpse through Moorish archways in the other room was a gigantic display of waterworks thrusting an immense needle of water into a great spray from which there roared the sound of a Niagara waterfall. Outside, a horse and cart jogged over the cobblestones on the street. But what she heard was a mighty rumble of thunder reverberating in a chasm of infinity, sounding and resounding through measureless mountain passes. In another room, a musician was playing a violin. But, although the strings had been muted, the resultant music to La Tarantula was like the music of the spheres sounding in majestic diapason from planet to planet, heavenly music swelling in mighty chords that could be heard a million miles away as from an orchestra of ten million instruments and a whole world of singers.
Then she looked down at what had once been a tiny worm of a prick between the legs of the Arabian. What she now saw was the bulking cock of a Don Juan, the balls of an El Gallo, the rampant galloping cock of a true fuckman. Immediately, her fingers shook nervously for contact with the great big thing.
Her cunt quivered for cuntact. Her ass shook for cantact. Her lips quavered for kintact. Her soul longed for kentact. Everything about her ached to have that overcharged battery of sexual dynamite exploding within her. She moaned. She sighed. She extended her arms to his cock beckoning for him to come to her hastily before it might diminish in size.
Tenderly, she took the seemingly enormous prick into her hands and stroked its length with her fingers. Under the massage, the thing seemed to take on added stature. For, with a series of spurts it grew larger and larger so that La Tarantula became riggish with the desire to have the thing already in her and poking her vitals about madly.
Slowly, the Arabian adjusted himself over the tremulous body of the olive-skinned gypsy girl lying outstretched on the divan. Through the diaphanous gown he saw the brown triangle of hair at her cleft.
Reverently, he lifted the gossamer away, gradually bringing to view the unadorned beauty of her cunt. When he spread her legs wide and saw the gaping hole awaiting the entrance of his boyish worm of a cock, he fervently hoped that the results of the hasheesh would suffice for him to complete the fuck. Otherwise, she would come to her senses and realize that, instead of a huge mastodon of a prick in her there was only the undeveloped penis of a child. It did not take him very long to insert his stiffened fingersize prick into her. But as he did so, he managed to keep his index finger alongside of it so as to stiffen it all the more and to give it the feeling of more body. And as he guided it into the receptive hot hole, he allowed his finger to brush up against the button that stood sentinel over her cunny, and thus give the sensation that it was his prick that was fucking her and not his finger.