Chapter 2
When "La Tarantula" was twelve years old, her father took her to the dancing school of the great "Don Jaimo Otero," than whom there is no greater dancing teacher of the great Spanish and Gypsy dances. Everyone had told him that his daughter was wasting her time dancing in the low class cafes and gypsy gatherings. She should be perfecting herself on the technique of the dance with the great "Don Jaimo Otero," with her remarkable talent and figure.
That was why he had taken her into the elegant section of Madrid and was leading her down the dark corridor that led into the patio where he had been told that Otero was teaching his class. The daughter, following her father dutifully, eyed her surroundings fearfully. Never before had she been away from home. And when she saw the rich surroundings, the vast patio with its splashing fountain, the lush green ivy on one wall, a great woven carpet on the opposite wall, she could not help but shrink within herself, for fear at this unfamiliar luxury.
From the extreme end of the patio she heard the sound of music, guitar music. This made her less uneasy. Music always did that to her. It was as vital to her being as the air she breathed. She felt the sinuous melody seep into her bones. And her green eyes glittered. She smiled.
Don Jaimo advanced to them when he saw them approaching. A class of young girls dropped to the flagstones and rested. The two musicians stopped playing.
The father told the great man who he was and why he had come. Otero looked down at the young girl in tow. He saw a slim, yet strangely voluptuous girl. A wild mop of raven-black hair topped her head. Green depthless eyes smoldered up at him. He looked down at her ankles. They were thinner than a man's wrist and as supple. He dropped to his knees and took the right one in his hands. It flexed like a sword of the best Toledo steel. He looked up at the girl.
"Will you dance for me?" he asked.
The girl looked up at her father. He nodded his head. "What shall my musicians play for you?" Otero asked.
"The Tango of the Flowers, she dances that best," the father suggested. Otero called the number out to the musicians. After a few experimental flourishes, they started off with the fast, sensuous music. Immediately, the moment the music started, the young girl became another person. Her body stiffened. Her eyes grew wider. Her arms took on the lines of twin snakes and coiled and twined like live things. Slowly her torso undulated with the music the while her hips rolled in and out and around and her shoulder swayed rhythmically and her buttocks took on the motions of fornication. At times, she would stamp her little foot or snap her fingers or throw back her head so that her long hair dangled down her back in a dark, shimmering wave.
"Marvellous!" Otero mumbled to himself. "She is a girl, yet becomes a woman when she dances."
"Delicious!" Senor Don Juan Gandulla, one of the guitarists, murmured, as he watched the thin dress of the young girl mold itself around her lovely ass-cheeks and in the cavity of her cunt.
But the other student girls frowned and one of them hissed. Immediately, Otero leaped up, his eyes glaring balefully. "Who dared to hiss this marvellous dancer?" he roared.
None answered. And so, with an imperious sweep of his hand, he dismissed the class. "Begone until tomorrow. Today, I must do nothing but teach this little gypsy girl." He turned to the father.
"I must take this young child in hand!" he said.
"How much will it cost me?" the father faltered.
Otero looked down at the young girl. He saw the budding breasts under her bodice. He saw the gentle womanly slope of her hips. He saw the finely etched nostrils blowing like a thoroughbred horse after a workout.
"It will cost you nothing!" he said. "I shall take her in hand personally. I shall teach her all that I, the great Don Jaimo Otero know about the Spanish dance. She shall live here with me where she shall be ever ready to be taught. And for all this, 1 shall pay you, the sum of twenty pesetas.
The father looked dubiously at the girl and then at the teacher. But he saw that the teacher was an old man, that there would be no reason for him to worry about the chastity of his daughter in this great man's home. Besides, the twenty pesetas would come in handy. And there was his steady hump, the widow woman, Maria, who was insisting that she was tired of living apart. She was demanding that he take her into his own home. With the girl away, all would be perfect, he and Maria could screw conveniently to their heart's content. She would be in good hands, she would be taught by the greatest teacher in Spain and, after she was taught, he could have her back again and she would dance for him and bring him much silver in his old age.
He consented to Otero's suggestion.
And he crossed the river alone that night. But when he brought his widow woman to his bed the same night, and while he was eagerly fucking her, he did not know that at the same time his own daughter was lying in the bed of Senor Don Jaime Otero, for the same purposeHere is what happened.
The girl danced all day for the master. By nightfall she was thoroughly tired from exertion. All day she had been forced to pirouette and twist, caper and twirl this way and that until she was almost on the verge of tears. Once she had rebelliously thrown herself to the grass tufted flagstones of the patio and had refused to go on with the instructions. But Otero had allowed her to rest there for half an hour. After that time, he gently approached her, took her arm and lifted her up again and continued where they had left off.
And all the while, Don Juan Gandulla, who was perspiring over his guitar, watched the girl craftily and, whenever her short dress swirled over her knees, his eyes would pop out with desire at the glimpses of naked thigh and black, hairy bush he saw. For she wore nothing at all under her dress.
That night, when her first day's lesson was completed, Don Jaimo gave the girl over to his housekeeper, Donna Clara, and she took her up to her bedroom on the second floor of the Otero residence. Never before had the little girl seen such splendor in a sleeping room. She approached the splendid silk-paned bed and sat on it gingerly and imagined that she would be in heaven if she were to sleep in that. And she felt so tired, too.
But the old housekeeper bade her peremptorily to take her dress off. And when she did so the old woman almost gasped with surprise when she saw the marvellous womanly form of the young girl. She stretched her out on a pallet and there rubbed her tired muscles with smooth sweet-smelling oils, massaging her body gently and working all of the sore tiredness out with her expert fingers. Then she bathed her from head to foot with orangewaters and perfumed her hair and all the intimate parts of her body and then finally covered her with a sheer flimsy nightgown of Madeira lace.
All the while, the young girl wondered why she was getting so much attention. But she did not have to wonder long. For she had not been in that marvellously soft bed for fifteen minutes, the door had but scarcely been closed behind the portly old housekeeper and her cheery "good night," when another door in the bedroom opened slowly and Senor Don Jaimo Otero, himself, crept into the room and walked up to the bed. He saw the lithe, perfectly formed body outlined under the exquisite silk of the counterpane. He sniffed the air and noted that the girl had been well perfumed as he had expressly ordered. Pussy odor always repelled him.
The girl saw him come closer to her bed. But she was unafraid. For, although her father had stringently kept her body from other marauders, after the unfortunate rape of her maidenhead by her uncle Chato Doble, he had been unable to control her mind. All day and all night she dreamt of that marvellous sensation she had experienced when she had felt her uncle's prick thrusting into her cunt and then that last great climax as his sperm shot into her which had left her panting from exhaustion. Nothing in her life had ever thrilled her body as sensuously as that. And sometimes, out of curiosity, she had taken a banana and after coating it with olive oil had worked it slowly up into her hot cunt, poking it in and out as she had remembered her uncle had done with his great big prick that had stuck out in front of him. And although she had experienced somewhat the same sensation, although she felt the pearly dew issue from her hot hole, she still felt that there was something lacking. And so she would dream at night of her good-looking young dream lover. But this time, instead of dreaming that he only kissed her and fondled her tits and pussy, she would dream that he sported a great big dick like her uncle had, and she would struggle and puff and pant and finally feel the wetness of come-juice between her legs. And she would awake from the dream happy that she had come off, but sad in the knowledge that she could not have a man to really shove his prong into the void of her hot pussy.
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 at him, invitingly. The wonder of it all, 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 young sex. 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 round breasts and tongued her pink 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 hot, moist hole. Tight, how tight her cute 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 stiff 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 thick, lusty 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 cunt. But when she finally found that for which she was seeking, a long sigh of disappoint merit shivered through her. It was only a small, limp thing. And it was all shrivelled up. She almost felt like crying, so keen was her disappointment.
"Can't you make your cock bigger?" she whispered urgently.
"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 a hard-on very long. So, lifting himself up, he spread the girl's legs wide apart, and inserted his prick, slightly distended now, into her warm, wet quim. He felt the eager muscles in her cunt grasp avidly for his cock. He felt her ass wiggle around and up and back, massaging his old dick. 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 with a dribbling of tepid sperm before the girl under him had a chance to become accli mated to the limp prick that he had inserted into her.
"More! more!" she wailed as she tried to take hold of his flabby cock and place it back into her cunny. But it was too soft for any such action again. It lay wrinkled up into its bag like a dead worm, emotionless and expressionless, like a weekold dog dropping. For half an hour, Don Otero vainly attempted to work his cock up to a fucking pitch again. But it was to no avail. He had come. The while the little bundle of cunt-fire under him ached for another fuck, yearned for a good stiff prick to shoot into her gaping pussy.
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 wet lips of her vagina with his fingers, he inserted his tongue deep into the cleft until he found the throbbing clitoris button. Taking it into his mouth, he sucked deeply at it, noting with satisfaction that it stiffened under his tongue lickings. Up and back his tongue shot into her twat. He felt her ass twirl once more. Once again the motions of fucking came into her hips and cunt as though she was feeling in her the thick, long cock of her uncle. And she felt the same emotions as she had felt when she had dreamed of the young gentleman at night. That is, although she knew that the boiling in her cunny was soon to come, although she realized that soon 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 her burning 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 half-dead 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 joy of putting his cock into a woman's cunt had died. It had taken the little gypsy girl to bring him to his senses. There was no point in even looking at a pussy 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 enticing 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 the joy of fucking new and ever-changing cunt lasted, it was pleasure. After even the possibility of a hard-on 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 pussy, sniffing her musky odor. 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 splashing 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 giant-cock of her uncle Chato Doble, and she imagined its great shaft working its way deeply into her, separating her cunt into halves, spreading her hole 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 hard head with a pee-hole eye winking solemnly at her. She recalled thick blue veins that coursed up and down the member gorged with the life blood that was being pumped into it, pendant with sperm-heavy balls. She recalled how it tapered from its point down to its butt until, at its end, it was thick as a formidable club. 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 cock in her dream. But, soon, she began to discern the outline of a man's body behind the prick. Then she heard a low voice.
"Sh!" it said, "do not be afraid, for it is I, Don Juan Guadulla."
The girl's eyes were on nothing but the outlines of the unbelievably enormous prick that jutted out in front of him. Line for line, ball for ball, shaft for shaft, 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 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 sucking motion with her tongue. And as he lay against her she felt the throbbing of his outlandish dong between them. Again and again she kissed his lips, his eyes, his nose nipping them gently from time to time, sighing softly her full contentment.
When she felt that she had had enough of his hps, she took his head between her hands and said, "Now! now!" and she closed her eyes and leaned back and awaited the first thrusting contact of his prick with her cunt. The intervening second appeared to be an eon. And involuntarily, she heaved a sigh of impatience. But at the same instant, she felt the hot 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 her whole cunny with a tingling such as she never knew existed before.
This was love!
This was life!
This was a man!
Slowly, Don Juan rammed up his penis, know43 ingly giving her as much pleasure as was possible from every inch of his delightful dick. Inexorably, she felt the pressing surge of it insinuating itself into the entire lower portion of her ass and belly, spreading her wide open, opening her completely to his cock-head 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 re-thrust 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 usual ability that he had in withholding the spurt of his semen.
Suddenly, the girl felt 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 ass. Hungrily, she cemented her hps to his, entwining her tongue in his, exploring deeply the very essences of his mouth. Passionately, she wrapped her shapely legs around his loins, locking her feet above his ass-hole crack and squeezing with all her might. Then, her muscles tensed, her nerves shrieking madly, her blood boiling and pulsating through her pussy and womb, she awaited the grand climax of her passion.
It came as like a tidal surge.
Engulfed in an overwhelming orgasm, she felt oceans of sheer joy and pleasure coursing through her twat and around her and over her. And the hotspot between her legs grew hotter from the torrid 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 more of this delightful fucking.
Here was a man with a real pair of balls to him.
Again she gave herself over to the fuck. Again she gave her teats to him, throwing the nipples into his face, kissing his hps with wild abandonment. And as he pumped his huge prick up and back inside of her cunt, she felt horribly inadequate because he was doing all of the humping. 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 bush hairs. And she felt the thick veins and she knew that there was in them those male essences for which she thirsted. Out of desperation, she again sezied hold of his hps with her own and once more went through all of the motions of French soul kiss. Round and round she whirled her ass. Up and back she threw her hips in rhythm with his pulls and thrusts, her buttocks quivering.
Then, of a sudden, she felt the same insistent boiling deep in her twat. She was going to come again. And again she prepared herself for it, wrapping her arms around his back, locking her legs around his ass and tonguing his mouth for all she was worth.
Again she came, the hot passion suffusing her entire womb and vagina, 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 ramming inside of her cunt, still exploring its myriad folds for a resting place. Was the man inhuman, she thought. Could he continue to give her such vaginal 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 in you next time!" And, without another word, he set again to his screwing, throwing himself into her cunny with an ardor such as he had not demonstrated before.
This time the girl felt that she could never rouse herself again to make the effort to have another orgasm with him. A lassitude crept over her that seemed to envelop her limbs, her very pussy with a lackadaisical feeling of ennui. For the moment, she took objection to the man humping so agilely on her belly. What did he want of her? Did he want her to spurt out her very lifeblood in her veins? But that feeling was only momentary. For, immediately afterward, it was supplanted by the overwhelming enormity of his thrilling dick that drove all objectionable thoughts away from her mind. She did not care what happened to her now. She knew only that a real man's prick was in her, that it had already brought her twice to the peak passion, that in her there was already stirring the faint signs of still another climax.
She thought back to the time when she had first come. His face had been calm and composed. Her's, she knew had been writhed in the throes of an exquisite passion that must have distorted her features like a gargoyle's. 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 a slave to the cyclones of passion that he caused to sweep mercilessly through her twat.
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 climax pleasure as she had.
Ad the while she thought of these things, Don Juan was busy humping with his still enlarged penis, swollen now to almost twice its former size. And his hands were lewdly stroking her flanks and ass and breasts and his tongue was lapping at her breasts and lips and eyes and ears in a mad frenzy that agitated the passion in her. She felt the faint strange stirrings of the third orgasm marshalling its forces deep down in her very uterus, tingling through to her ass-hole. Something impelled her to cooperate with him in the vicious attacks of his prick into her heated cunny. Larger and larger she felt the organ bulking within her until it began to assume enormous proportions and she felt that she could contain it within her no longer.
Then a marvellous thing happened.
Through the dim haze of passion that obscured her rational self, she saw that he, too, was feeling and writhing now and in the same way that she had been. She felt his fingers clutch at her ass, the fingernails digging deeply into her flesh. She felt his hot breath pouring over her face as he breathed heavily into her face and panted with exertion. She felt a new vigor in his thrusts, she sensed a renascent power surging forward as though on potent pinions, she saw the lines in his face screwing up, the upper teeth in his mouth biting deeply into his lower lip. Now she would enjoy her moment of pleasure as she watched him suffer in the bittersweet throes of orgasm.
But she recked little with herself. For, at the same moment, she forgot her resolve entirely. For she found herself entirely immersed in the throes of her third climax. Unknowingly, she searched blindly for his lips with her own lips. And, finding them, she lighted on them hungrily, sucking at them with every ounce of strength that she could gather, skirmishing around with her tongue as though she were seeking some haven to thrust it. And, once again, she seized hold of his body with her hands and threw her legs around his ass-cheeks. And she squeezed as hard as she could attempting mightily to withhold the juice drenching within her from shooting out from her cunt. But, what was better than before, he was doing just as she was. The same dynamic forces were impelling him to forget everything but the fact that within him burned fire and passion and ardor and emotion all fused together in one grand orgasm of pleasure.
Then she knew with gypsy intuition that they were going to come together.
She wanted to scream out fuck, shit, piss, all the dirty words that she had heard spoken in her father's house and in the gypsy slum. But she was afraid to open her mouth for fear that she would lose contact with her lover. And so she contented herself with swimming along with the enraged, boiling current of her passion expectantly awaiting the crucial instant when she would get the signal from him that he was about to shoot his great load of semen into her.
She got the signal. It was an agonizing cry that seemed to tear out of his very guts.
And she let herself go within herself, feeling that her cunt and ass were dropping away from underneath her and that her body was soaring away from them, up, up into the heavens of bliss. And, at the same time, she felt the satisfying spurting of hot, creamy come splashing inside of her, one, two, three, four, five intense jets of juice flying up in her cunt. And then she felt a lush warmth trickling down her legs from her cunt-lips which burned like liquid fire.
After that, she knew no more what happened. She knew only that she was tired, terribly tired, that she had no arms or legs or body, that she was only mind soaring up and away from her body. And, in that couch of extreme tiredness, she fell asleep, her arms still around her lover's body, his prick, limp now, still inserted in her twitching hole as though he was loathe to withdraw it and thus break contact with her cunny.
They were awakened the next morning by the shriek of Don Otero's old housekeeper. Both of them sat up in bed as the old woman's shrieks sounded and resounded through the rooms. And, to their horror and dismay, the owner of that voice, the housekeeper, came running into the bedroom, before Don Juan had been able to gather his senses and get out of bed. The housekeeper stopped short when she saw them in bed together. A shriek that she had intended to emit stuck in her throat which left her mouth comically open. Then a look of suspicion came into her eyes.
"You! it was you Senor Gandulla who killed him!"
"Killed?" Both Don Juan and the girl gasped the word out with horror. "Whom have I killed?" Don Juan demanded.
The housekeeper leaped over to the bed and seized hold of Don Juan with both her hands as though she was not going to let him go. "You killed Don Otero!" she shrieked, holding onto his shoulders and scratching him, "you killed him so that you could fuck this little gypsy whore yourself!"
In a short while, a pair of important looking constables, attracted by the housekeeper's shrieks, entered the room. They went into Don Otero's room and found the old gentleman lying on the floor. A bloodstained razor lay on the floor. The blood which had already congealed, had issued from his neck which had been slit from ear to ear so that the head rolled over to one side in a rather comical fashion, like a droll clown. Blood was spattered all over the room. Oddly, he was holding his pathetic old dick in one of his hands. It was stiff with rigor mortis-stiffer than he had ever been able to get it in his old age....
Then it was that the gypsy girl recalled the thud that she had heard during the previous night. But it was too late. Both she and her lover were seized and hustled into the jailhouse.
The girl was freed on the testimony of the old housekeeper who assured the court that Don Juan had ever been envious of Don Otero's capabilities, prowess and young mistresses, and that it was he who had killed her master.
To the judge, it was quite obvious that Don Juan had killed Don Otero in a mad fit of passion, fighting over who should hump the young gypsy girl. And he sentenced the guitarist to be hanged by the neck until he was dead.
The execution was carried out on Friday of the next week. Don Juan was walked up to the gibbet still protesting his innocence mightily. The black cap was drawn over his head. The hangman's noose was settled over his head and adjusted so that the heavy long knot came directly over his right ear. Then the trap was sprung. The body fell through the trapdoor, jerking suddenly to a stop as the body came to the end of the tethered rope on the gibbet. A faint snap was heard as the neck broke. And jutting from his trousers, the onlookers could see that his penis had suddenly grown to an enormous size so that it burst the restraining buttons of the flyflap and sprang out into the open like a white flagpole. A blob of semen spurted from the rigid cock as the body jerked in its death throes.
"That usually happens," the hangman commented dryly, to a newspaperman who, the next day wrote his account of the hanging and was the first one to label the young gypsy girl, "La Tarantula."
And so, with her second and third victims, "La Tarantula" was born.