That was why she did not cry out at Otero's approach.
The old man bent over her and kissed her gently on the lips. He was startled when he saw that her deep green eyes were wide open and that they were smiling up to him, invitingly. The wonder of it all, she was inviting him to her bed. The marvel of it all, this little girl child, this little girl woman, was opening herself to him, to take for himself.
Slowly, he uncovered her. The fine silk of her nightgown lay against her body like another skin. It outlined all of her delicious body.
Without a word he lifted the silk of the nightgown away from her body. Then he saw the wonderfully smooth olive skin of the gypsy girl glowing up at him like a dream of heaven. He kissed her little breasts and tongued her nipples until he felt them stiffen under his manipulations. And, at the same time, he allowed his hand to wander down to the furze of hair around her cunny. Expertly, he inserted his index finger into her hole. Tight, how tight her little hole was going to be. His fingers came into contact with the button of her clitoris. As though an electric current had passed between his finger and the projection, the little button stood up like a soldier on parade.
Almost instinctively, the young girl reached her hand between Otero's legs and sought for the same swollen prick that she had seen dangling between her uncle's legs and that had given her so much pleasure when he had shoved it deep into her Utile hotspot. But when she finally found that for which she was seeking, a long sigh of disappointment shivered through her. It was only a small thing. And it was all shrivelled up. She almost felt like crying out so keen was her disappointment.
"Where is it?" she cried lowly.
"I am an old man!" Otero wailed, and he realized that he would not be able to satisfy this ball of fire that was wriggling so passionately under the ministrations of his searching fingers. But the contact of her warm moist hand against his prick sent tentacles of passion into his blood.
And he felt his manhood arise in him once more, although feebly, for he was an old man. He realized that he could not hold himself very long. So, lifting himself up, he spread the girl's legs wide apart, and inserted his prick, slightly distended now, into her quivering quim. He felt the eager muscles in her cunt grasp avidly for his cock. He felt her ass wiggle around and up and back. He bent his head and kissed her on the lips and tongued her mouth as he had done a thousand times before that. And then he came, ignominiously came before the girl under him had a chance to become acclimated to the limp prick that he had inserted into her.
"More! more!" she wailed as she tried to take hold of the little thing and place it back into her cunny. But it was too small for any such action again. It lay wrinkled up into its bag like a dead eye, emotionless and expressionless, like a frog on a toadstool. For half an hour, Don Otero vainly attempted to work himself up to a fucking pitch again. But it was to no avail. He had come. The while the little bundle of fire under him ached for another fuck, yearned for a good stiff prick to shoot into her gaping cunny.
Once she took it into her mouth and kissed it. But there was no use, the thing was as dead as yesterday's bullring horse that had been gored by a bull. In desperation, the old man reversed positions so that his head was between her legs and his face was face down between the hairs of her cunt. Then, separating the lips of her vagina with his fingers, he inserted his tongue deep into the cleft until he found the throbbing button. Taking it into his mouth, he sucked deeply at it, noting with satisfaction that it stiffened under his lickings. Up and back his tongue shot into her. He felt her ass twirl once more. Once again the motions of fucking came into her hips and loins as though she was feeling in her the long lance of her uncle. And she felt the same emotions as she had felt when she had dreamed of the young bu'ne at night. That is, although she knew that the boiling in her loins was soon to come, although she realized that soon she was going to feel the wet fluid splashing inside her, she was going to feel that something was going to be missing.
Finally, she did come, full into the face of Otero who was working his tongue like mad into her cunt and around her clitoris. Once, twice, three times she felt the delicious spasms go through her and she felt herself spurting fire and passion. Afterwards, she sighed deeply and moaned and relaxed back against the pillows as though in sleep.
Slowly, very slowly, the old man lifted himself away from the girl. Then he stood up and away from the bed. He stared down at the little quim still pulsating from the exertions that it had just undergone, the hairs around it still dewy with the pearly drops that had spurted from her.
Then he looked down at his own helpless little penis dangling like a misshapen worm. And he knew that he was an old man. He knew that, thereafter, life would hold nothing more for him. He was dead. His
body still lived, but the spirit had died. It had taken the little gypsy girl to bring him to his senses. There was no sense in living any more.
For more gypsy girls would be brought to him to be taught something of his genius of the dance. And they would all taunt him with their little breasts and virgin cunts. And he would be forced to endure the torture for the rest of his life knowing that he could not satisfy them nor himself. Life was one great big fornication. While it lasted, it was pleasure. After it was over, there was only death ahead of him.
So taking one last look at the young girl lying outstretched on the bed, he bent over and kissed her on her forehead. Then, slowly, he turned around and left the room.
That was the last that La Tarantula ever saw of him. Lying back on her pillows, exhausted from her day's work in the dance patio, tired from her recent orgasm and disappointment, she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep. Once she thought she heard a dull thud in the room next to hers. And she sat up in bed and listened for further sounds. But all she heard was the gentle plashing of the water in the fountain of the patio outside. Once more she lay back in the pillows and tried to sleep. But sleep would not come. For in her mind there hovered the nightmare of an enormous prick, the prick of her uncle Chato Doble, and she imagined its great length working its way deeply into her, separating her body into halves, spreading her apart in a tearing, ripping frenzy.
She tried to console herself by recalling the details of the prick, as much as she could remember. She recalled the foreskin pulled back over its head with an eye winking solemnly at her. She recalled thick blue veins that coursed up and down the member swollen with the life blood that was being pumped into it, pendulant with heavy balls. She recalled how it tapered from its point down to its butt until, at its end, it was like a formidable cudgel. And with the picture of that prick in her mind's eye, she heard a slight noise at the side of her bed. She opened her eyes and saw jutting out immediately in front of her what she thought was the selfsame prick that she had been dreaming of. In the dark gloom, it seemed as though the prick was a separate entity in itself, entirely devoid of a human body to which it should have been attached. For the moment, she thought that she was dreaming and that she was seeing only her uncle's prick in her dream. But, soon, she began to discern the outline of a man behind the prick. Then she heard a low toned voice.