"Sh!" it said, "do not be afraid, for it is I, Don Juan Gandulla."
The girl's eyes were on nothing but the outlines of the enormous prick that jutted out in front of him. Line for line, bag for bag, eye for eye, it corresponded with the prick that she had envisioned so often in her dreams.
"I could not stand it any longer!" Don Juan whispered as he advanced toward her. "All day long I watched your beautiful body dancing and a symphony of music swept across my mind and the symphony I knew was you!"
"Don't speak!" she said to him softly, as she drew him down to her. She entrapped his lips in hers and sucked up his breath in a great heave.
And as he lay against her she felt the throbbing of the giant organ between them. Again and again she kissed his lips, his eyes, his nose, nipping them gently from time to time, sighing softly her full content.
When she felt mat she had had enough of his lips, she took his head between her hands and said, "Now! now!" and she closed her eyes and leaned back and awaited the first galvanic contact of his prick with her cunt. The intervening second appeared to be an aeon. And involuntarily, she heaved a sigh of impatience. But at the same moment, she felt the first insertion of the head of her lover's cock. And oh! the wonder of it! oh! the marvel of it! oh the enraptured throbs of pure unadulterated unalloyed bliss that roved over every nerve fibre in her body and filled every cell in her bloodstream with a tingling such as she never knew existed before.
This was love!
This was life!
This was a man!
Slowly, Don Juan inserted his penis, knowingly giving her as much pleasure as was possible from every inch of his great organ. Inexorably, she felt the pressing surge of it insinuating itself into the entire lower portion of her body, spreading her wide apart, opening her completely to him for his entry. She could stand her inactivity no longer. Throwing her chest out, she threw her breasts directly into his face.
"Suck them! suck them!" she commanded.
Lovingly, he took first one nipple into his mouth and then another nipple, caressing each one with his tongue, feeling the erectile tissues in them slowly stiffening. And slowly, in and out, he thrust and rethrust his prick, noting with an immense satisfaction that she was as tight a cunt as he had ever experienced in his whole life of fucking. He could feel the smooth slippery walls of her vagina gently stroking against the sides of his penis with an insistence that made him doubt the capacities that he had in withholding the spurt of his semen.
Suddenly, the girl knew that she was going to have an orgasm. A boiling up as of a thousand fountains seethed within her. Eagerly, she threw her arms around Don Juan's back. Hungrily, she cemented her lips to his, entwining her tongue in his, exploring the very essences of his mouth. Passionately, she wrapped her slim legs around his loins, locking her feet behind his back and squeezing with all her might.
Then, her muscles tensed, her nerves shrieking madly, her blood boiling and pulsating in every little vein of her, she awaited the grand climax of her passion.
It came as with a tidal surge.
Engulfed in an overwhelming orgasm, she felt oceans of sheer joy and pleasure coursing through her and around her and over her. And the hotspot between her legs grew hotter from the hot juices that flowed into it. Out of sheer passion, she bit deeply into Don Juan's shoulder, leaving the tiny red marks of her teeth impressed in the flesh.
La Tarantula had struck again.
But neither of them was aware of that. For, after her orgasm, as through a hazy dream, the girl realized that deep within her cunt, the stiff prick of her lover was still charging rampantly, eagerly anxious for another joust.
Here was a man!
Again she gave herself over to the fuck. Again she gave her teats to him, throwing the nipples into his face, kissing his lips with wild abandonment. And as he pumped his prick up and back inside of her, she felt horribly inadequate because he was doing all of the work.
What could she do? What could she do?
And so she allowed her hands to roam to the spot under his balls where she felt the wrinkled bag and a few thin hairs. And she felt the thick veins and she knew that there was in them those essences for which she thirsted. Out of desperation, she again seized hold of his lips with her own and once more went through all of the motions of a French kiss.
Round and round she whirled her ass. Up and back she threw her hips in rhythm with his pulls and pokes.
Then, of a sudden, she felt the same insistent boiling in her loins. She was going to come again. And again she prepared herself for it, wrapping her arms around his back, locking her legs around his loins and tonguing his mouth for all she was worth.
Again she came, the hot passion suffusing her entire innards, a wave of hot, spasmodic jerks going through her, a series of disconcerting sobs catching at her throat and restricting her breathing. Out of sheer pleasure, tears came to her eyes and she wept on his shoulders.
But, insistently again, despite the fact that she had come the second time, she felt his stiff prick still poking about inside of her, still exploring its myriad crevasses for a resting place. Was the man inhuman, she thought. Could he continue to give her such pleasures throughout the night?
As if in answer to her question, Don Juan smiled down at her and whispered, "More?"
"But you?" she asked pitifully.
"Don't worry!" he panted as he sank his head down to the pillow so that it could absorb the heavy drops of perspiration that dripped from his forehead. "I shall come with you next time!" And, without another word, he set again to his job, throwing himself into it with an ardour such as he had not demonstrated before.
This time the girl felt that she could never rouse herself again to make the effort to come with him. A lassitude crept over her that seemed to envelop her limbs, her all with a lackadaisical feeling of ennui. For the moment, she took objection to the man bumping so agilely on her belly. What did he want of her? Did he want her to spurt out the very life-blood in her veins? But that feeling of revulsion was only momentary. For, immediately afterward, it was supplanted by an overweening enormity of emotion that drove all objectionable thoughts away from her mind. She did not care what happened to her now. She knew only that man's prick was in her, that it had already brought her twice to the peak of passion, that in her there was already stirring the faint signs of another orgasm.
She thought back to the time when she had first come. His face had been calm and composed. Hers, she knew, had been writhed in the throes of an exquisite passion that must have distorted her features like gargoyles. And, again, during the second time she came, she recalled that he had looked down at her with a sort of leering smile on his face, as though the thoughts behind his eyes were to the effect that
he was her master because he was able to control himself while she was slave to every zephyr of passion that swept mercilessly through her.
She would make him come, spurting his hot semen into her, she decided. She would watch his features contort with passion the way hers must have appeared to him smiling calmly over her. And she would stare calmly up at him and watch him suffer the same agonies of tortured pleasure as she had.