abandoning him meant abandoning her chosen life as well. Likewise, the urge to take the sexual element further was boiling over, just like her loins had been.
Inside her mind, she wished she had not been ordered to pull up her pants and start training, but to strip completely nude and run naked laps around the ring. She then found herself wanting to have the bullfighter inside her until she had a second orgasm.
“Get up and run the hand,” Mariano commanded once more.
Trying to fight back the shots of pain and embarrassment, Angela shuffled to her feet and leaned against the fence, facing her head toward the clouds. Pausing briefly to rub her punished ass, she reached down to pull her panties and pants back up, with a new round of knife stabs coming when she did. Her bottom half was so hot from both sides.
With the fury of a chastised little girl running to her room, she turned and charged toward the center of the ring where she scooped up the cape and sword, positioning them for the fight of a lifetime.
“Ha,” she called out. “Ha, toro.”
Caping an imaginary bull, she stretched her arm at full length and pivoted in a circle, running the hand like a seasoned pro.
“Ole,” mouthed Mariano, with renewed confidence now in his voice. “Again.”
Once more, Angela performed the derechazo pass, stretching and profiling as she led an invisible bull past her.
“Owwww!”
The moment as she bent at the waist caused her pants and underwear to brush against her furnace of an ass, but the sensation was overcome by the feeling of burning determination.
“Si!” the matador shouted, forgetting himself and speaking his Spanish. “Si. Poder, mandar y temple!”
Again she did it, then again and again, until her mentor was convinced she had learned her lesson well.
“Bravo,” Mariano shouted and came to her with a satisfied smile. “Let’s hope we don’t have to teach you the hard way again!”
Uncontrollably, Angela dropped the lure and flung herself upon the matador, kissing him madly. As their mouths and tongues collided, it was clear a new relationship was about to begin.
“Run the hand.”
Angela opened her eyes to find herself in the empty bullring once more. She was back in the present, which at the moment was nowhere near as preferable as the past.
“What was that?”
For an instant, she thought she heard the band high above starting to play the opening notes to the song, Cielo Andaluz. Like Mariano, the melody had been a part of her. She knew the music all too well...
“Don Ignacio.”
The elderly promoter, long dead, stood alone in the front row, watching her.
“Are you sure what you are planning is wise?” he asked. “This plaza de toros welcomes you as you know, but are you really ready to stay?”
“I’ve come home,” Angela whispered. “Come home for the final time.”
There was another gust of wind, and like Mariano before, the old promoter was gone.
Once she was ready for her professional debut, which had taken place in this very ring, Mariano launched his female protégé. The team of Mariano and Angela became a hit in the border towns, appearing in what was termed as mixtas. As a seasoned pro, Mariano fought the large bulls, while Angela fought smaller ones, where their performances were marvelous. More often than not, both left in triumph on the shoulders of the crowd. The scene was repeated time and time again. Tijuana, Nogales, Juarez, and Reynosa were some of the places where they won unprecedented acclaim together.
All the while, Angela never forgot her lesson from long before, where she was taught by the slap of a belt that she would always run the hand.
Competitors in the ring, and lovers away from it.
“Run the hand.”
Angela heard the disembodied voice and then a loud, unanimous scream. Five thousand shrieking cries, shriller than her wail when Mariano had taken the belt to her unprotected behind in the very bullring that was soon to be
Inside her mind, she wished she had not been ordered to pull up her pants and start training, but to strip completely nude and run naked laps around the ring. She then found herself wanting to have the bullfighter inside her until she had a second orgasm.
“Get up and run the hand,” Mariano commanded once more.
Trying to fight back the shots of pain and embarrassment, Angela shuffled to her feet and leaned against the fence, facing her head toward the clouds. Pausing briefly to rub her punished ass, she reached down to pull her panties and pants back up, with a new round of knife stabs coming when she did. Her bottom half was so hot from both sides.
With the fury of a chastised little girl running to her room, she turned and charged toward the center of the ring where she scooped up the cape and sword, positioning them for the fight of a lifetime.
“Ha,” she called out. “Ha, toro.”
Caping an imaginary bull, she stretched her arm at full length and pivoted in a circle, running the hand like a seasoned pro.
“Ole,” mouthed Mariano, with renewed confidence now in his voice. “Again.”
Once more, Angela performed the derechazo pass, stretching and profiling as she led an invisible bull past her.
“Owwww!”
The moment as she bent at the waist caused her pants and underwear to brush against her furnace of an ass, but the sensation was overcome by the feeling of burning determination.
“Si!” the matador shouted, forgetting himself and speaking his Spanish. “Si. Poder, mandar y temple!”
Again she did it, then again and again, until her mentor was convinced she had learned her lesson well.
“Bravo,” Mariano shouted and came to her with a satisfied smile. “Let’s hope we don’t have to teach you the hard way again!”
Uncontrollably, Angela dropped the lure and flung herself upon the matador, kissing him madly. As their mouths and tongues collided, it was clear a new relationship was about to begin.
“Run the hand.”
Angela opened her eyes to find herself in the empty bullring once more. She was back in the present, which at the moment was nowhere near as preferable as the past.
“What was that?”
For an instant, she thought she heard the band high above starting to play the opening notes to the song, Cielo Andaluz. Like Mariano, the melody had been a part of her. She knew the music all too well...
“Don Ignacio.”
The elderly promoter, long dead, stood alone in the front row, watching her.
“Are you sure what you are planning is wise?” he asked. “This plaza de toros welcomes you as you know, but are you really ready to stay?”
“I’ve come home,” Angela whispered. “Come home for the final time.”
There was another gust of wind, and like Mariano before, the old promoter was gone.
Once she was ready for her professional debut, which had taken place in this very ring, Mariano launched his female protégé. The team of Mariano and Angela became a hit in the border towns, appearing in what was termed as mixtas. As a seasoned pro, Mariano fought the large bulls, while Angela fought smaller ones, where their performances were marvelous. More often than not, both left in triumph on the shoulders of the crowd. The scene was repeated time and time again. Tijuana, Nogales, Juarez, and Reynosa were some of the places where they won unprecedented acclaim together.
All the while, Angela never forgot her lesson from long before, where she was taught by the slap of a belt that she would always run the hand.
Competitors in the ring, and lovers away from it.
“Run the hand.”
Angela heard the disembodied voice and then a loud, unanimous scream. Five thousand shrieking cries, shriller than her wail when Mariano had taken the belt to her unprotected behind in the very bullring that was soon to be
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