Bulled

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!”