BULLFIGHTER
by http://www.undergroundvideo.com




     Katarina Magdelena Garcia Pinto washed herself in the cool river water
outside of Manresa.  The crystal mountain water did little to cool her hot temper.  

     "I am a matador!" she shouted, her black eyes flashing with resentment.  

     The officials in Barcelona had not agreed.  Seeing this sensual beauty with
classic Spanish features, they identified her as more Flamenco than bullfighter. 
Besides, who would allow such a beautiful creature to be charged by a bull. 
Surely, Spanish honor would never allow it.

     She dunked her long, curly black hair into the water, then whipped her head
backward, slapping it against her smooth glistening back like a whip.  

     "I'd say you are," came a voice from the bank.

     Turning suddenly to the shore, Katarina looked for the source of the reply. 
She spied a man, crouching on his knees.  He looked to be in his 40's, dressed in
the expensive attire of a country gentleman.  In his hands, he held the reigns to
the most beautiful black horse she had ever seen.  The animal's halter and saddle
were of black leather, inlaid with fine silver.  Worth a fortune.

     The stranger took a puff of his thin cigar and smiled.  Katarina suddenly
realized she was nude.  She covered her small breasts and pointy nipples, erect
from the cold water, with a thin arm.  Her other hand, she covered her
black-haired pubis, which was clearly visible between her wet thighs.

     "Very well, then," said the man, still smiling.  He rose and turned his back
while she walked cautiously from the water to where her bolero outfit lay over a
bush.  In a few moments, she was dressed.

     "You are a matador," the man continued, "and I am Juan Jose Castillo.  I own
this land, and several establishments in Barcelona."

     She eyed him cautiously.  

     "So, you want to kick me off."

     "No, by no means.  You are a very beautiful woman."

     She took this as a proposition.  "What do you need a beautiful woman, when
you already have such a beautiful horse." 
     "From what I have seen you are both high spirited animals.  How did you get
here?"

     "I walked."

     "From Barcelona?"

     "No.  I rode part of the way.  In a car."

     "You seem angry."

     She quickly summarized what had happened in the morning's registration for
the bullfights.

     "I see.  They didn't think that the bull ring was a suitable place for a woman."

     "But I have trained, under Carlos De Rodridguez.  It is very frustrating."

     "I can imagine," said the man, imagining how she would be under him.

     "So.  Thank you for the use of your stream." She turned to leave. 
     "Wait a minute.  You really want to be a matador?"

     She looked at him mockingly.

     "I have a proposition.  It will require your cooperation and your willingness to
endure some degradation, but it may get you a place in the bullfights on
Saturday."

     "What is your plan?"

     That was how the plan was formed that saw Katarina standing in the wings of
The Matador, a strip club in the seedier district of Barcelona.  Castillo's
establishments, it turned out, were a number of such clubs all over Spain.  They
were a front for drugs, guns and prostitution and catered to a seamy clientele. 
However, on this night, most of the Matadors for the Saturday event were in
attendance, just as Castillo said they would be.  They were there to enjoy life with
the enthusiasm of men who might die the following day, as well they might.

     She waited for the music to signal her entrance.  She wore a mock suit of
lights, specially designed for ease of disrobement.  The plan was to so captivate
the male matadors with her movements and technique as to gain their support in
allowing her into the ring.   
     She had practiced the dance for several days and now prepared for her own
triumph, or death of embarrassment.  The trumpets flared, and the MC announced
that the next number was dedicated to the matadors in the audience, eliciting a
boisterous response from the half-drunken men.

     Ravel's Bolero, played somewhat faster and jazzier than intended by its
composer, filled the hall and Katarina stepped out onto the stage with the grace
and pride of a real matador.  In time to the music, she made a circle, hat off to the
imagined crowds.

     The beat became a grind, and she began to swivel her hips sensually.  She
removed her cape and laid it over a chair.  Still swiveling suggestively in time
with the music, she slowly removed her blue silk jacket.  The shirt was a false
front and her lithe back was revealed to the leers of the audience.  They whistled
and hooted with glee.

     With a cymbal crash, she tugged on the tight fitting pants of her outfit and
they ripped easily from her body.  Her thighs were encased in stockings of white
silk that connected to a garter belt.  Her pussy was held in a pair of bright red silk
panties that had no crotch.  The red was the color of the cape, and she forced
herself to view the lusting men as bulls with her in the ring.

     She turned and poked her ass out at them, affording a full view of her wet
pussy.  She waved it back and forth, like a cape before a bull.  Then stood erect
once more and stared dominatingly at them.

     Last to be removed was her mock shirt.  As it slipped away, hardened mounds
of swollen breast flesh were revealed.  She clutched them in her hands and
dropped to her knees, giving the handsome matador in front the most alluring,
sensual look she could muster.  His smile in return melted her inhibitions:  he
was a beautiful animal with a muscular jaw and piercing blue eyes.

     Ramirez was also taken with her.  His cock stiffened in response to the rest of
her dance, which was obviously being given just for him.

     She stuck her ass into his face and thrust it quickly up and down, like an
animal in heat.  Turning to face him, she squeezed and pinched her hard nipples
viciously, giving him a mouthful of desire and lust.

     In a semi-drunken stupor, he rose from his chair to touch her.  She was too
swift.  He touched only air, while she had fled to the chair fetching her matador
hat and cape.  Waving it before him, she stood erect.

     "Toro!"

     Ramirez smiled and climbed onto the stage.  He removed his shirt, revealing a
dense carpet of hair on his chest and back.  His broad muscular shoulders
tapered into a rippled waist and skin tight pants.  To spice things up, he unzipped
his fly, pulling out a massive cock.

     Katarina gulped and watched as the man crouched low, placing his fingers on
either side of his head like bull horns.  He charged.  Katarina side-stepped him
easily.

     He spun and found her standing on the other side of the stage.  Giving his
cock a squeeze, he stomped his foot and snorted loudly.  He fixed his eyes on her
sensual thighs and sped forward.  Again, she moved from his path with a single,
fluid motion.

     The crowd roared, "Ole!"  And Katarina bent over deeply in a bow.  She peered
over her shoulder to see Ramirez, attracted by her bright red panties, charging for
her.  His face was different, animalistic.  And he no longer crouched like a bull,
but ran erect.  His cock was hard and angry, and his gaze intent on her pussy.

     She barely stepped out of his path in time.  The crowd roared once more.  He
chased her in a tight circle, which she turned into a figure eight by an expertly
executed series of dodges. 

     At last, he fell to his knees with exhaustion.  She took a matador's sword from
beside the chair, rolled him onto his back and positioned the sharp edge against
his balls.  The audience went wild, as hats and flowers and paper napkins were
tossed onto the stage in joy.

     Katarina threw her cape around her shoulders and bowed humbly to the
crowd.  The lights went dim.

     As she collected her belongings and headed for the dressing room, she was
stopped by Castillo.

     "You were marvelous, carita!  I will make a wealthy woman of you if you
remain with me."

     "That wasn't what we set out to do, Juan."
      He made a sudden move for her, but she side-stepped and positioned her
sword on his throat.  In the shadows, she heard Ramirez clap his hands.

     "You fight like a matador."

     "That is what I am."

     "Well, matador" he bowed, "tonight you conquered your first bull."

     "No just one of many.  I am a student of Di Rodridguez."

     "So I see."

     "I am serious.  I came to Barcelona to compete in the ring.  I was turned away. 
They said it was no place for a woman."

     "But you bullfight like a matador.  Come with me.  We will go see the registrar. 
I will speak for you."

     He appeared sincere.  Katarina smiled.

     "Let me go change."
      She squeezed herself into her caballero pants and examined her thighs in the
mirror.  There was a gap between them at the crotch.

     No matter, she thought to herself.  You don't need to have anything there to be
a bullfighter.

     But for tonight, she certainly hoped there would be something between her
legs.  For tomorrow, she may die.