2 comments/ 60753 views/ 5 favorites Bulled By: sr71plt El Toro—the Bull—was pawing and snorting beyond to door to the plaza de torros, wanting the dance to the death to begin. But I was in no hurry. Part of ascending over him was driving him mad by making him wait for it. If it weren't for brains and guile I would be no match for the Bull. The Bull was a massive brute. I had already pulled on my pink stockings and the black satin, form-fitting breeches and selected the white shirt, a frilly one this time, I thought. I wanted the contrast between matador and bull to be pronounced. Trimness, style, fluidity on the one hand and brutish narrowness of purpose on the other. I wanted even the Bull to see and appreciate the difference. But what to wear for the traje de luces—the suit of lights? It had to be flashy and it had to anger the Bull. That was the whole point. The Bull had to be angry enough to melt down so that the estocada—the death blow—was mine, not the Bull's. The green, I thought. The Bull fairly snorted whenever the green was flashed. And the capote—the cape—was to be green as well. But the sash? The sash would be bright red. The Bull was fairly bellowing impatience and the need for the corrida—the fight—from beyond the massive wooden door after I had finished knotting the sash and straightening my black astrakhan, my two-pointed hat. I stood admiring myself in the mirror for several moments. Flawless. I was magnificent even if I did say so myself. I was almost too beautiful to take on the Bull at all. Perhaps I should leave the Bull pawing on the other side of the door there and become an unattached man of the night. But that, of course, was ridiculous. What would the fashionable matador be without his bull? Time for the dance of death. I threw open the door and strutted out onto the killing ground. The Bull was turned from me but whipped around at my entrance. He was a monstrous thing, but magnificent in his monstrosity. All bulging sinew and muscle, hairy and massive and mean looking. A tremendously virile male. A pendulous cock that would make a rhino whine and back away and a ground-dragging ball sack. The Bull expressed the essence of brute precisely. I swished my cape and tilted my head and looked saucy for the brute. I was late—hours late—for our assignation, but I wasn't about to let the Bull think this bothered me one bit. I at least was ready and the Bull wasn't. All of this time and I was ready for the Bull, but the Bull had done nothing but stand out here on the gravel of the arena and act like a bull. I swished the cape again and did a little bit of pirouetting on my delicate ballet slippers, and the rage and impatience rose in the Bull's gorge and I was being charged. "Ole!" I cried out with a lilting laugh, as I turned deftly at the last second and passed my cape over him in a perfect Veronica move. The Bull would think twice about that, I thought, with a stab of self-congratulations. Bet the Bull didn't think I had that maneuver in my repertoire. But Bulls don't think. They just impetuously do. And their appetites are large and gross and insistent—and totally selfish, I might add. That was why the relationship between a matador and a bull never really worked out. Both were totally self-absorbed. So, naturally, one of them had to die. But I was thinking too much and it was slowing me down. The Bull charged me again and caught the satin of my breeches and tore a chunk of the material away at my hip. First blood. The first blood had gone to the Bull and all because I was mentally screwing around with the Bull and not taking any of this seriously. But it had gotten serious now. These breeches couldn't be taken back now. The Bull really had drawn blood. there was a thin slice across my bared hip. The drawing of the blood made me angry. But it seemed to stimulate the Bull. The Bull looked at the wound and snorted in victory and pawed the ground, ready to charge again. In this pass, I thumped the Bull on the nose in passing and was rewarded with a squeal of pain and raw anger. I thought the Bull properly unhinged then, but the Bull showed me that big and bulky could be agile too. I had feinted to the right one too many times on the nose-thumping pass. The Bull outguessed me and turned that way too, lowered his head, and hit me in the midsection full force, knocking me to the ground and knocking the wind out of me as well in the process. And he held me pinned there to the ground with the top of his head in my midsection and me writhing under him, trying to get his massive weight off me. But it was no use. He was pawing at the rent in the satin at my hip, ripping the breeches away, and then his sensuous big lips went to my cock and he was swallowing me and pumping me with his brutish mouth. "Pasquale, enough, enough. I give," I was crying out to him. "The estocada is yours. You have struck the death blow. Stop. Stop!" But the man bull Pasquale wouldn't stop. I'd aroused him. I'd aroused him on purpose, and I only had myself to blame that I was being ravished. He was sucking my cock relentlessly, and he had one big hoof in my sternum, holding, me to the ground and the fingers of the other hand were searching, finding my rim, opening me to the inevitable sinking of that monster cock inside me. "Gawd, Pasquale, if you didn't want to go to the costume party, why didn't you just tell me you wanted to stay home and fuck? Just look at this costume. I can't return this now." Not a word from Pasquale, just lustful grunts. He was spreading my legs and lifting my butt cheeks. "Oh, Pasquale. Not so . . . Ohhhhh, Pasquale! You're splitting me! Ohhhh, Ohhhhhhhhh! Gawd, Yesssssss! You . . . are . . . the . . . B-U-L-L!" Bullet 01 *Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age. She washed the car in the late afternoon, when the sun was still hot, but not as hot as it had been. The classic 1972 Chevy Malibu didn't really need washing, but it was a good excuse for her to wear a bikini. It was a good excuse for her to get her skin glistening wet from sweat and the garden hose. It was a good way for her to show off her five foot ten inch frame, long blonde hair, and thirty-nine Double D breasts, twenty-nine inch waist, and thirty-six inch hips. It was a good excuse for her to show off her nice and tight backside to whoever cared to look. And most of the neighborhood men on Henderson Lane cared to look. The twenty five year old beauty hummed along with the car's stereo, tuned to an 'Oldies' Station out of Lafayette, Louisiana, every now and then even putting a little wiggle into her movements along with a favorite song. Then when she deemed the car clean enough, she began the laborious task of waxing it. Jack groaned as she paused long enough to readjust her bikini bottom. This movement gave him a very brief glimpse of her blonde muff, but had lasted long enough to prove to him that she was indeed a natural blonde. "Fucking shame she's married to 'Fat Boy,'" he thought. ---- "Had enough of giving all the old guys heart attacks?" David teased Lynne when she came in. In answer she smiled and blew him a kiss. She got a beer out of the refrigerator and drank deeply. "Nope," she finally said. "Still got to get the wax off." Surreptitiously she loosed the knot that held her top on and finished her beer. With another kiss to David, she was back outside again. ---- The top popped open as she was vigorously buffing the trunk of the car. With a squeal, she cupped her large breasts in her hands and quickly scampered to the safety of her house. ---- "Nice, very nice," David commented dryly. Lynne smiled widely and let the bikini top drop to the hardwood floor. "Think they'd like if I did this?" she asked and hefted one breast to her mouth and licked the large nub with the tip of her tongue, then gave the nipple itself a hard suck, making a 'pop' when she pulled it out of her mouth. She repeated the maneuver with the other tit. "Yeah, I believe they would," he said. "Or, how about if I do this?" she asked and tugged the string tie that held the skimpy bikini bottom on and let it flutter to the floor. She spread her legs wide and showed him her wet pussy, then let two fingers slide up and down her wet slit, then dipped them into her pussy. She brought the two fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean. "Oh, I'm sure they'd like that too," he agreed and showed her his erect cock. "Ooh, Baby!" Lynne giggled and scampered over to where her forty-year-old husband sat. "Thank they can see in the window?" she asked as she gripped his cock at the base and lowered herself onto it. "If they're looking, yeah," he groaned as her hot, tight pussy swallowed him. Lynne screamed loudly as she came, drenching his thighs with her excitement. Her pussy muscles convulsed and gripped him tightly and he groaned again and pumped his seed deep inside of her. "Well, better get back out there and finish getting the wax off the car," she gasped and slowly dismounted her husband. ---- She wiped the last traces of the white paste from the hood and gave her bikini top one last 'check' before getting into the classic automobile and backing it into the garage. She hit the button for the automatic door and got out of the car. ---- David grabbed her and swung her around. She screamed in surprise; he wasn't usually a very aggressive man. He bent her over at the waist and pressed her large breasts to the tabletop. "You've been a very naughty girl," he grunted. Flaunting your body like a shameless hussy." "Oh, yes!" she cried out and came hard when he roughly shoved her bikini bottom aside and thrust himself into her. She looked up; Jack was trying to peer into their kitchen window from his driveway, and trying to make it look as if he was not trying to peer into their kitchen window. She grunted and came again as she felt David's white-hot come pump into her. "I want to suck your cock," she gasped. "Three time in one day?" David asked. "Honey, I don't know if I can come three times. "Just try," she barked and sank to her knees and slobbered and drooled spittle all over his cock, then sucked him down in one swift motion. She grunted and sucked noisily as she dug two fingers in and out of her pussy. With her free hand, she jacked his cock, trying to milk his semen from him. Sadly, he couldn't manage another climax; after she'd come several times, her arms and jaw were too tired to continue. She stood up and they kissed deeply, then she slowly walked down the hall toward the master bedroom. "Going to take a hot shower," she called out. ---- Later that night, she made several trips from the master bedroom to the kitchen, or the living room, stark naked. Her dancer's body was illuminated by the dim nightlights, or by the glow of the television, or the light over the stove. She stood in the kitchen and threw a bag of microwave popcorn into the microwave. She stood there for the four minutes it took, flexing and posing in the window, unsure if anyone was watching, but extremely excited by the idea that there may be several male, and some female eyes on her. ---- "Oh, for God's sake, Lynne," David groaned as she again got out of bed. "Just going to the bathroom this time," she laughed. "Good thing, the poor bastards need some sleep," David said and rolled over. Bullet 02 *Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age. Jack tried the knob; it was unlocked, just as she said it would be. He slowly turned the knob then pushed the door softly. Only the slightest of creaks could be heard, but he still froze for a moment. He entered the darkened living room and looked around, letting his eyes get accustomed to the dark. There was the shiny red leather couch. He'd not said anything about how gaudy it was when she was laying on it, her thighs locked around his head. He'd not commented on the surreal color of the leather when he had his cock buried to the hilt in her tight ass. She was the first woman he'd ever fucked up the ass. He'd begged his ex-wife for anal sex so many times; hell he'd begged her for any kind of sex. She was a frigid cow that though sex was for procreation and procreation only. She had even thought playing with her titties was a sin, since those were supposed to be for producing milk for the children she was to bear. When she found out that she was unable to bear children, several cysts in her fallopian tubes, this was ground for divorce. Obviously, in God's eyes, she wasn't meant to be married. Thankfully the judge ruled that, since the house was his before the marriage, she wasn't entitled to half of its value in divorce. She may have used her religion to determine she wasn't supposed to be married, but that didn't deter her from being a vindictive bitch in the divorce. But Lynne let Jack fuck her any which way he wanted to, and play with her titties, and play with her pussy, and play with her ass. The floorboards creaked slightly as he began to creep along to the hallway. Funny, he never noticed how much they creaked before. Then again, he wasn't trying to be silent before. Lynne wasn't very silent when she was making love. She actually curled up her lip in disgust at that term. "Love is an emotion, you can't 'make' an emotion," she declared. "It's fucking, which is an expression of love." And at first, that's what it was to him, fucking. He'd sidled up next to her in line at the McDonald's and asked the five foot ten inch beauty what a man had to do to get between those long beautiful legs. "Most of my lovers just ask," she smiled and placed her order with the pimple faced girl. "Bye," she smiled and left with her lunch. The floorboard creaked horribly in the hall and he froze again. He saw the many framed pictures in the hallway and wondered why he'd never noticed them before. "Because, dumb ass, you were to busy looking at her ass," he laughed to himself. Too busy watching his come dribble out of her stretched, raw looking anus and stretched, angry looking pussy, and sticking to her muscular, tanned thighs. There was a photograph of David when he was much younger, dressed in a football uniform. Jack didn't remember those days; he'd only been two years old at that time, but his father sure did remember it. Bender, Louisiana was proud of its high school football team, and had something to be proud of. And right in the middle of that was David Labbe, star running back. Several colleges had vied for his attention and his future looked bright indeed. Then David Labbe, Senior had been killed in a hit and run accident. They never did find the other driver. David Junior had dropped out of high school to go to work at the mattress factory, Bender's main source of employment. His mother was busy raising five children, one of which had special needs, so David took up the role of 'man of the house.' There was another photograph of a young smiling David, flexing his muscled arms. Dangling from his arm was a small girl, smile on full wattage. Jack could see the girl's leg braces and recognized the big smile. Melanie Labbe had been born with spina bifida and had to wear leg braces. She walked with the use of crutches, but always seemed to have a full smile on her face. Jack liked when he'd get her window at the bank; he'd flirt with her and make her giggle and blush. Right at her window, in full view of anyone who looked, was a picture of her big brother, David. David had told her that she was only as limited as she wanted to be. When someone tells you that often enough, you tend to believe it. And you tend to make other people believe it too. In her senior year of high school, she'd been voted 'Homecoming Queen.' There was the picture of Melanie Labbe in her Homecoming prom dress, cheap plastic crown on her head. Unfortunately, while everyone agreed that Melanie Labbe was beautiful, few could look past the leg braces and the crutches. Jack had heard that she had to wear a diaper. He didn't remember where he'd heard that, but the idea of dating a girl that had no control over her bowel movements was not very appealing to him. There was a photograph of Lynne, pasties and g-string on, hanging upside down from a pole in the middle of a stage. There was another photograph of Lynne, smiling saucily at the unseen photographer as she covered her breasts in her small hands. The g-string panties barely covered her blonde tuft of hair. Jack remembered her cupping those magnificent breasts together so he could thrust his cock between them. She screamed and laughed as his come spurted out and coated her lips, chin, neck and breasts. Then she used her fingers to scoop the semen up. With him watching, she had that same saucy smile as she licked her fingers clean. "Divorce is out of the question," she sadly said. "He said he'd kill me before he let me go." The twenty two-caliber pistols were nearly untraceable to him; he'd stolen it out of a customer's car five years ago. He'd taken a soda can and duct taped it to the muzzle. The soda can was stuffed with packing peanuts. The homemade device would serve two purposes; it would act as a silencer, and also render the bullets almost impossible to perform any ballistics tests on. He paused outside of the guest bedroom door. He smiled as he looked at the comforter. "It was his grandmother's," she'd sneered. "Fucking ugly, if you ask me. But they'd had fun fucking on it. Lynne laughed at the idea of 'generations of wet spots' on the ugly bed covering. Just past the doorway were a few more photographs. There was one of Lynne, dressed in a thong bikini, draped over the hood of a 1957 Ford Thunderbird. Her tan looked good, as she'd greased herself up just before the picture was taken. There was another photograph of her, and David; it was their wedding photograph. He smirked at the white wedding dress, she was clearly no virgin, no blushing bride. There was a photograph of David and group of men, standing outside of the mattress factory. Jack looked closely at the photograph. The front doors were the old glass and steel ones, not the newer wooden wanes that hung on the frames now. They'd replaced the glass and steel doors after the fire. Several of the employees had been severely cut by the thick glass as they ran to escape the inferno. Jack also saw Herman Villeaux in the photograph. They'd never recovered his body; some said the force of the blast had blown him to small chunks of flesh and bone. There was John Laponte. John had been deafened from the blast. Dazed, deafened, disoriented, he was stumbling toward the inferno itself when someone grabbed him and carried him outside. He never did find out who it was that saved him. "It was an angel," John would say. "An angel saved my life; being deaf is a lot better than being dead." That was why David was in the horrible physical shape he was in now. In the photograph, he still had his 'running back' physique, instead of the bloated body he sported in the wedding photograph. He'd gone back inside, despite the others' trying to stop him. Three times he'd come back out with a severely injured coworker. On his fourth trip in, the roof collapsed on him, burying him under flaming wreckage. He was in physical therapy for nearly a year before he could walk again, unaided. The factory gave him a desk job and a substantial raise in salary. The entire town regarded him as a hero, although he didn't see it that way. Instead of seeing the four people he'd been able to rescue, all David could see were the seven people that had lost their lives in that horrible fire. "Wasn't me," David told John when John asked if it had been him that carried him to safety. "You find out who it was, I'll buy that man a steak dinner." There was a photograph of Lynne in a 'naughty nurse' costume. She'd been a candy striper at the hospital when the injured started pouring in. That was where she and David had met. Despite the fifteen-year age difference, the twenty year old had fallen hard for the thirty five year old hero. "I'll leave the door unlocked, you come in and..." she said as she lazily played with her slick pussy lips. "I don't know," He'd hesitated. "I love sucking your cock, especially after it's been in my ass," she husked and deep throated him. "It's just so fucking nasty." There was a photograph of David and Melanie, both on crutches, and both with wide smiles on their faces. Melanie was encouraging her big brother to try, try a little harder. She reminded him again that he was only as limited as he wanted to be. Jack Paused outside of the master bedroom door. David's snoring could be heard. He peered in and saw Lynne, long leg bare, sleeping on her stomach. David slept soundly next to her, lying on his back; the only position he could sleep comfortably in. Sometimes his back flared up horribly and he couldn't sleep at all. But Lynne, his loving Lynne, would make him lay on his stomach and she would rub and knead his back until the cramps would go away. Jack took careful aim and... The plan had been for him to go out the rear door and run through the woods, then cut over to his won house. That way, they'd not be able to trace him, trace the homicide back to him. But he didn't want to do that; David's German shepherd was in the back yard. "Shoot him too," Lynne had said. "Fucking dog stinks anyway." He walked out the front door and made sure to stay in the shadows. Once inside the safety of his own home, he took off the ski mask and let out a deep sigh of relief. Connie sat up in the tree and waited, high-powered rifle trained on the back door of the Labbe home. "The stupid little prick will get David out of the way, then you get him out of the way, and we can be together," Lynne told her and dipped her head into Connie's bush again. "It's the perfect plan," Lynne told her as they lay in the bubble bath, scented candles all around. "Who in the hell would suspect a bunch of dumb strippers coming up with this shit?" Connie slapped at the swarm of mosquitoes and waited. Dawn began to break and she realized that Jack wasn't going to be coming out. She groaned as she tried to will her cramped and stiff muscles to move. **** Lynne almost screamed when David playfully tickled her exposed foot. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he smiled and showed her the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon he'd made for her. "You know what, Lynne?" Jack coldly said when Lynne called him at the garage. "I almost went through with it, put the poor bastard out of his misery, being married to a cunt like you, but figured it wasn't worth going to prison over." "Fuck you, spineless bastard!" Lynne shrieked into the phone. "Oh, and Lynne?" Jack laughed. "Those tapes we made? They'll be on David's desk this afternoon. Might want to start packing now." Jack took the deposits from Bruce, the garage owner and drove down to the bank. He smiled and waved another patron ahead of him and waited his turn. "Hi Beautiful," he said to Melanie Labbe when she finally finished with John Laponte. John took a little longer to help; he was still struggling to read lips. "Oh, stop it," she blushed and giggled. "Hey listen, instead of depositing all that money, why don't you and I take it and head to Mexico?" he suggested and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Yeah, right," she laughed. "We'll get real far on..." She rapidly counted out the cash and checks. "Four hundred and ninety two dollars," she said and smiled her beautiful smile at him. "Oh well, I tried," he said and smiled. "But if you won't go to Mexico with me, how about going to eat Mexican food with me?" "Are you serious?" she asked, mouth open in shock. She'd been asked out on dates before, but as soon as they saw the crutches and leg braces, they somehow 'remembered ' another engagement they had. But Jack knew her, knew she had leg braces and used crutches. He'd gone to school with her, well, he had been two years ahead of her, but he knew her. Jacket had decided that since he didn't know if the story about Melanie needing to wear a diaper was true or not, there was only one way to find out. "Yeah, I'm serious," he smiled. "You got to eat, right? I got to eat. But when I eat, I like to look at a pretty woman." "Shut up," she giggled. "Too bad all you'll have to look at is me," he went on. "How about six thirty?" "Um, yeah, um, okay," she said and quickly wrote down her phone number on a business card. David looked at the package with interest; he'd not ordered anything. He rattled it a few times, then shrugged his shoulders and slit through the wrapping paper. (Jack wasn't at all worried that David would find out it was him on the tapes; Lynne was so narcissistic that her face was the only one visible on the tapes.) The End.