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<1st attachment, "Young_Girl_Sex_Club" begin>
WARNING:
This story is fiction, and should be treated as such.
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY,
and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an
adult, or reading sex stories upset you, do not read any further.
I am NOT the author. I don't have the talent to write these
stories. We can only be ... "TheEditor" and Associates.
Young Girl Sex Club
By Andrew Laird
Chapter 1
In the Hip Room there wasn't even elbow room, but no one
seemed to mind. There were many other attractions. There was
noise, confusion, smoke (not all of it from tobacco) and the
pungent smells of unwashed bodies, stale beer, cheap wine and
vomit. There was long, unkempt hair, beards, bare bellies above
hip-huggers and bare thighs below abbreviated miniskirts. There
were many dirty feet, both bare and sandaled, and many grimy
hands.
In one corner, where it squatted like the insane, plastic
monster it was, a jukebox taxed its mechanical lungs and electric
vocal cords to the utmost, bellowing out the frenzied beat of a
rock group to make itself heard above the witless, jabbering din
that rose in a mad cacophony from the crowd.
The final touch to this man-made inferno was supplied by
multicolored, wildly unsynchronized strobe lights that were strung
along the low ceiling.
No torture chamber devised for the specific purpose of
driving its hapless victims to madness could have compared in
devilish ingenuity of the Hip Room.
To Ellen Canfield, however, it was all very exciting. It was
her first experience in a place if its kind and, although she felt
both out of place and somewhat frightened, she was enjoying
herself immensely. She turned to convey this information to her
escort, only to discover that he had managed to slip away from her
unnoticed. She thought she could see the back of his blond head
through the haze of smoke and was temporarily reassured. She
supposed he was trying to squirm his way through the densely
packed crowd to get drinks from the bar. Vaguely she worried
about where he would sit when he returned. The space he had
occupied on the bench at the long table beside her was now taken
by another person; whether man or woman she could not be sure, for
all she could see was the back of a head with its shoulder-length,
brown hair. He solved the matter of his sex by turning toward
her, revealing a bearded jaw and dull, glazed eyes of pale blue on
either side of a jutting, fleshy nose.
"Here," he said, "take a hit." He offered her an inch of
crudely rolled cigarette, the end soggy from many lips.
"What is it?" she asked, drawing away and wrinkling her nose
at the acrid smoke. She thought she knew but couldn't be sure.
She had never before seen marijuana. At least she was certain it
did not resemble the neat, filter-tipped cigarettes she smoked.
"Whadaya mean, what is it?" the man demanded indignantly.
"It's a joint. Whatcha think it is, hashish?"
She hesitated, revolted by the thought of that sodden butt
between her lips, yet afraid of offending the one making the
offer. She shifted uncomfortably when he took his first good look
at her, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.
"Well, I'll be dipped in shit!" he exclaimed. "Damned if it
ain't Miss Uptown herself. Whatcha doing down here, baby doll ...
little slumming trip?"
Ellen blushed. Under the flashing strobes it probably was
not noticeable, but she felt her flesh become hot, as though a
blowtorch had been turned on her. The intensity of the hot flash
rendered her speechless and made her a little sick. There was a
terrible moment in which the noise, the stench and her own fear
hit her like a blow to the solar plexus. She wondered if she
would faint.
The bearded man sneered knowingly. "You fucking squares are
a pain in the ass," he said disdainfully. "Come down here to see
how the weirdos live ... like going to the zoo to look at the
apes. Then you get all shook if one of us speaks to you. Whatsa
matter, baby, you figure I got leprosy or something?"
"I'm sorry," Ellen stammered drawing as far away from him as
she could, trying not to show her disgust or fear. "I ... I
didn't mean any harm. I've never been to a place like this
before, and I've never smoked marijuana. My boy friend brought me
here. He's gone for drinks ... I think," she ended lamely.
The bearded man grinned, but it was not a friendly grin. His
eyes, sparking now with interest, started at her feet and moved
with slow and calculated insolence up her nylon-sheathed legs to
rounded thighs visible below the hem of her miniskirt. They rose
to the slight curve of her stomach and the contours of a sweetly
crafted torso, revealed in abundant detail by the form-hugging
fabric of her knit dress. They lingered appraisingly on the twin
bulges of her breasts, then rose to her face, baby-round beneath
the heaped meringue of her champagne-blonde hair. He read the
unmistakable fear in her blue eyes and in the nervous trembling of
her soft, red lips. "Whenever I see a chick like you," he said
with toneless menace, "all starched and ironed and strapped into
place, I get the damnedest urge to mess her up. So you dreamed
you went slumming in your Maidenhead bra and in your Playsex
girdle, did you? I gotta notion to pull them to hell off of you
and see what you look like with your titties flopping and your
bare cunt hanging out."
Ellen gasped in shocked horror. "You wouldn't! You wouldn't
dare! This is a public place! My escort will be back. He'll ...
he'll ..."
The bearded man laughed unpleasantly. "You just said the
wrong word, you goddamned phony, antiseptic, perfumed bitch.
Nobody dares Max Kern. Hey, look what I got here," he said to the
others at the table. "Smart-assed cunt needs a lesson. Watch for
that blond square she was with while I show this chick how we do
it on Cool Street."
"No! No!" Ellen screamed as Max Kern's long-fingered dirty
hands reached for her. "Help me!" she appealed to a hard-faced
girl her own age who sat across from her. The girl curled a pale
upper lip and, to Kern, said: "Why doncha take her down under the
table and fuck her, Maxy? We'll cover for you. When her boy
friend comes back, we'll tell him she split on him."
Ellen screamed again. Not a head turned in her direction.
Screaming was the normal method of communication in the Hip Room.
She tried to fight, but her efforts were futile. Not only was Max
several times stronger than she, but by this time she was so
nearly paralyzed with terror that all power had deserted her arms
and legs. He easily held her arms pinned to her sides while his
free hand went under the hem of her dress to claw at her panties.
She felt the elastic give and then he had drawn them down to act
as a hobble around her kicking ankles. Despite the fact that she
held her legs clamped as tightly together as possible, he thrust
hard fingers into the tender flesh of her inner thighs, violating
for the first time the sacrosanct cleft of her crotch, roughly
parting the hair-shrouded lips of her vagina.
She continued to scream, even though she knew it was useless.
Those around the table were laughing and leering at her. Those in
the rest of the place ignored her. As she felt Max Kern begin to
slide under the table and drag her with him, her sanity left her;
she was bludgeoned temporarily numb by the impossibility of what
was happening to her. She was from a small town, and certainly no
smarter than the average of her sex and she knew--just as she knew
that there is a President of the United States, that the sun rises
in every morning, and that Walter Cronkite comes on every evening-
-that one does not get raped in a public place among seventy or
more people. She knew that, but it was happening anyway. Her
mind, therefore unable to cope with the impossible, withdrew from
the nightmare that was taking place, leaving her only enough
awareness to feel pain, shame and horror.
They were on the floor under the table. Bare, willing feet
found her arms and held them with cruel pressure against the
cement floor. Her resistance was instinctive but feeble and
futile as her dress was tugged and pulled until it was bunched
under her armpits. Her bra surrendered to a savage jerk that tore
the snaps loose and her panties were snatched the rest of the way
off of her weakly thrashing legs. The cement was cold and hard
against her bare back and buttocks. She had stopped screaming and
only cried in a continuous, sobbing bleat of mindless terror.
"How is it, Max?" A bearded face appeared upside down under
the edge of the tablecloth.
"Don't know," Ellen's attacker grunted. "I ain't fucked her
yet. But, man, she's got one hell of a body. Dig them big
boobies."
"Yeah," the upside down one agreed. "You gonna suck her
cunt, too?"
"Naw, not now. She ain't in no condition to appreciate the
finer things. Maybe after I've broken her in I'll take her up to
my pad and give her the full treatment. Depends on how she acts."
"How about me taking seconds on her when you're through?"
"Sure. She'll need a lot of screwing to tame her down. We
got all afternoon. Tell the rest of the guys, too. Pussy just
ain't much good unless it's been gang-banged. Keep a watch out
for the guy she was with." As he talked, Max had been dropping
his trousers. He wore no underwear. He held his long, hard cock
in his hand, fondling it lovingly as he knelt between her legs and
studied her hair-fringed slit.
"Okay, baby doll," he muttered as he lowered himself to her,
"here's where you get it ... right up to the balls!" He addressed
the dripping, throbbing head to her opening and settled himself,
his bearded lips quivering with lust and his pale eyes glowing in
anticipation as he hesitated one last second to savor the creamy
expanse of her beautifully molded torso and the swelling mounds of
her breasts with their pink and brown nipples, the softly rounded
contours tremulous with the agitation of her sob-shaken body. He
pushed the broad, purplish bead of his prick into her until it was
lost to sight. Then, with a long, almost anguished "ahhh" of
pleasure, he thrust down with all his strength, driving the bone-
hard instrument into her, relishing the exquisite sensation of her
flesh parting or tearing as it was shouldered aside by his
ruthlessly rapacious root.
Ellen screamed again, but the hard-eyed girl who had been
across the table from her was bending down so that she could
watch. Expecting the scream, she effectively muffled it by
putting a bare, dirty foot in Ellen's open mouth. She kept her
foot there for a while, then transferred it to one of the exposed
breasts, roughly massaging it and sometimes pinching the nipple
with a prehensile big toe. As she peered under the uplifted edge
of the tablecloth, her face was flushed; and her eyes shining, her
breath coming in convulsive gasps. One hand was under her skirt,
her fingers frantically manipulating her clitoris.
Had Ellen looked about her, she would have seen not only the
shapely limbs of the hard-eyed girl, trembling to one self-induced
orgasm after another, but that the men at the table, inflamed by
the vicarious thrill of what they knew to be taking place right
under their feet, had unzipped themselves and were stroking their
cocks. They also cried encouragement to Max.
"Fuck her, man!"
"Stick it to her, Maxy!"
"Ram it clear up into her goddamn fucking guts!"
But Ellen was not aware. She knew only pain and, dimly, that
she was naked on the floor while a man raped her, that the
virginity she had cherished for nineteen years was being ravaged
and destroyed, and that her oneness with herself as an entity
distinct from all others was being annihilated. Mostly she was
aware of the plunging, piston-like prick and the ruthlessness in
which it battered her inner body, each thrust as agonizing as
though performed by a hot poker. But even pain must finally reach
a plateau, must suffer a surfeit of itself until it fails from
overproduction. It lessened. She opened her eyes to the forest
of legs, feet and dripping pricks as seen through the fringe of
Max's rancid-smelling beard. As a child she had had nightmares,
but none to compare with this atrocious and impossible scene. She
had two choices ... either go completely insane with fear, or
withdraw in a kind of stunned indifference and patiently await the
moment when this Phantasmagoria would end.
Too tough-minded to go crazy, she lapsed into state of semi-
catatonia in which what was being done to her body became a dim,
unreal and distant thing. Her mind, detached from both pain and
the shame of involvement, was free to consider her surroundings
with curiosity. She saw the foot that massaged one of her breasts
and followed up the slim, unclean limbs to parted thighs and
gaping vulva where busy fingers agitated the clitoris hidden
beneath the moist, pink flesh. She could even see the hair-
shrouded, brown eye that was the girl's anus; it winked in time
with the gasping of her pulsating vagina.
Ellen was familiar with masturbation. She had experimented
with it during her twelfth year, but it had been her favorite
sport only until she learned to play tennis. She tore her eyes
from the performance of this rite to look from one to another of
the men who were playing with the pricks under the table. Only
once before in her life had she seen a man's prick, and that had
been just before leaving home. She had walked in on her brother
while he was in the bathroom. He had been busy urinating, and she
had stared at his exposed organ for a second in both dismay and
fascination before blushing violently and fleeing from room. That
night she had dreamed that he carried a large snake coiled between
his legs and was chasing her with it.
She next looked down to see Max's white buttocks bobbing
above her hips and realized with astonishment that he had a cock
just like those other men and that he was industriously sloshing
it in and out of her. He was no longer hurting her. Her body,
having turned numb, had rejected the pain.
Ellen did not know when her boy friend came back from the
bar, a bottle of beer in either hand. The ones at the table
informed him seriously and sympathetically that his girl had
gotten sick, had said she was going home. The closely pressed
bodies about the table prevented him from seeing what took place
beneath it and Ellen had stopped screaming. She was no longer
even crying. The young man's face turned red and he cursed. As
he put the bottles on the table and began elbowing his way toward
the door, the conspirators laughed, nudging and clapping each
other on the back as they congratulated themselves on the success
their deception.
At that moment, Max had his orgasm. The cadence of his
probing increased, and he grunted loudly, emitting other animal
noises as Ellen felt his hot sperm shoot into her and slush out to
roll down her thighs. She watched with mild interest as he
withdrew, noting that his cock was smeared with his own semen and
red from her blood where he had torn her hymen.
"You ain't a bad fuck," he admitted, panting, "only you got a
lot to learn. I'll let some of the other guys help break you in
and then maybe I'll take you to my pad tonight. You act right and
I'll let you stay with me until I get tired of you, but you got to
start dropping acid and smoking pot like the rest of us. Hey,
Joe, give me a tab of 'L'."
He accepted something from an anonymous hand that appeared
under the table and he told Ellen to open her mouth. She did and
felt a small, white tablet being inserted by a grimy finger. She
was instructed to let it melt on her tongue. "When that hits you,
you'll be on a helluva trip," he promised. "I'm gonna let Benny
screw you now. He's kinda queer, but he likes chicks, too. After
Benny, some of the other cats will take a crack at you. How you
dig getting fucked, hunh? Groovy, ain't it?"
She regarded him dumbly and didn't answer. She was in a
state of shock, her body and mind no longer able to respond to
either pain or fear. Had he told her she was free to get up and
go home, she would not have stirred from her place on the floor.
Only a part of her mind remained active, but her thoughts were
remote, barely connected to body.
Max shrugged indifferently, pulled his pants into place and
slid out of her range of vision as another bearded man, a somewhat
younger one, took his place.
"Boy!" Benny exclaimed, viewing her with awe. "You're sure a
lot prettier than the chicks we usually get around here." He bent
to kiss her on the mouth, the soft, blond hairs of his beard
woolly and somehow comforting against her face. He roughly pushed
aside the girl's foot, which still rubbed Ellen's breast, and
cupped the mound with his hand. Then he felt down over her ribs
and hip to caress her white, rounded thighs and touch her semen-
moist vulva.
"I'm gonna suck your cunt," he declared, his face twitching
with excitement. "I'll bet you'll like that." He turned around
so that his head was even with her hips, then reached back to
adjust his cock so that it rested above her breasts.
"I guess you ain't used to sucking cocks," he told her, "but
you can hold it and play with it for me while I'm going down on
you. Hey, you cats, get your feet off of her arm." He knocked
the dirty feet away and Ellen, for the first time, was able to
relax from the awkward position she had been in. She made no
protest when he took her hands and cupped them around his prick.
Because he told her to, and because she had no will of her own,
she continued to hold his member tightly as he lowered his mouth
to her crotch. The lapping of his tongue was so mild a feeling
compared to being punched and torn by Max's big cock that at first
she was hardly aware of it when he began titillating her clitoris.
His hips moved and his prick, already dripping and smeary, slid
easily back and forth in her tight grip.
He took his time, and she didn't mind. Now that the feet no
longer pummeled and imprisoned her, she was fairly comfortable and
his licking and sucking at her vulva was soothing. Furthermore,
something new was happening to her mind. She was beginning to be
affected by the drug she had taken. It was like drunkenness and
yet not like it. There was a dizziness and a lightness, almost as
though she were floating, and a gradual increase of sharpness and
clarity in her perception of everything about her. It was, she
thought with dull curiosity, as though she had donned glasses that
magnified everything. Her face was only a few inches from the
young man's thighs, and she suddenly saw each hair and pore in
vivid, microscopic detail. Her other senses were also greatly
increased. The rich, mingled smells of semen and sweat assailed
her nostrils, and his prick was like wet, slick satin to the touch
of her hands.
As he continued to lick her clitoris, she felt the first,
faint tingle of returning sensation to her lower body. She was
sore from the brutal way in which Max had assaulted her, but the
richness of feeling inspired by the eager tongue of her new lover
was driving away remembrance of pain. Her mind still refused to
tolerate the shame and humiliation of her position. It blocked it
out as a thing too awful to bear and, as she began to derive
pleasure from this new thing that was happening to her, she
concentrated on that to keep from thinking about the fact that she
was being raped in public. To save her sanity, she surrendered
her body, the powerful dose of LSD she had taken helping her make
this adjustment.
The slobbering attack on her sex organ was accomplished with
ravenous hunger and much enthusiasm, but not without expertise.
Benny Morely had practiced the art extensively on both men and
women. At twenty-one he had achieved his ambition to become a
complete degenerate, living only for sex ... any kind of sex, and
for dope ... any kind of dope. Oddly enough, he was a sensitive
and generous person who would eagerly share himself or anything he
had with someone he liked. He liked Ellen, so he gave to her in
the only way he knew how to give. He employed all of his cunning
to the pleasurable task of sucking her clitoris and was childishly
delighted when he felt her straining body begin to respond to his
efforts. He would really have preferred sucking a man, but
licking Ellen's semen-filled cunt was almost as good as sucking
Max's cock and, of course, there was the fun of doing it with
someone new.
The tingling sensation grew to a flooding warmth of passion
that spread out from the one focal point to Ellen's entire body.
She felt it in her thighs and in her groin, knew it in the
hardness of her nipples and in the straining muscles of her back
as she arched herself to his mouth. It wrapped her in a pink mist
that shut out everything else, and she gave herself to it
gratefully. She even enjoyed the sensuous feel of his cock
sliding back and forth through her hands.
When her passion had reached a height she would not have
thought possible, it suddenly soared beyond that and then her hips
were jerking convulsively, her pretty, white legs thrashing madly
and her body pulsing with a paroxysm of lust as she came to her
orgasm.
At the same time, Benny's prick swelled, strained, and then
began to spurt, the hot, sticky stuff squirting onto Ellen's lower
face and neck. Their cries of pleasure, too intense to bear in
silence, went unheard above the din of the Hip Room.
"Hey, get your nose out of it, you queer bastard!" another
voice was saying and Benny was pulled roughly away from her as
another man took his place.
Ellen, still in a daze of post-coital lassitude, made no
resistance when her legs were spread and another cock was thrust
into her body. It hardly hurt at all, and she accepted the burly,
sweat-smelling weight on her chest and belly, wrapping her arms
and legs around him and lifting her hips to meet his lunge, her
whole being concentrated on trying to recapture the exquisite
sensation she had just experienced with Benny.
They kept her there under the table all afternoon, taking
turns with her until all of the men in the group had been with her
at least twice. They let her rest only long enough to take
frequent drags from marijuana cigarettes. By evening she had
passed out, but they didn't mind, continuing to sate themselves
with use of her inert body. She was not aware when the girl with
the hard eyes slid under the table to make love to her just as
Benny Morely had done.
Ellen awoke in the small hours of the morning. She was lying
on the filthy mattress in a strange room beside Max Kern, who
snored like the distant whine of a power saw into his beard. They
were both naked. She sat up and saw a candle in the dim light of
the room. She found matches and lit it, staring at the yellow
spearhead of flames as she let memory invade her mind, bit by bit
until all of the astonishing facts were present and accounted for.
The one thing she saw with absolute clarity was that her
adventure had changed her life utterly and irrevocably. She knew
there was nothing to prevent her from getting up, dressing and
going home to her apartment. There she could bathe, have
breakfast, put on clean clothes and report to work as usual. No
one would ever know. Oh, but they would! She would know! Ellen
Canfield would no longer--could no longer--be the Ellen Canfield
who had smugly thought of herself as a nice, virtuous, nineteen-
year-old girl from a respectable, small-town family. The only
thing that amazed her was that she could find within herself not
even the tiniest spark of regret for the demise of that other
Ellen Canfield.
She looked at Max's thin, knobby-kneed body sprawled beside
her in the steady light of the candle. She remembered again what
he and all of his friends had done to her under the table in the
Hip Room. Her hips moved and she felt the nipples of her breasts
harden with returning excitement. She took his limp cock in her
hand and began stroking it. When it was hard, she tugged on it to
awaken him.
"Hey, Max," she said, jerking at him, "wake up and fuck me
again."
Chapter 2
Lynn Charles picked up the newspaper from the coffee table
where her brother-in-law, Sam Dryerson, had dropped it the evening
before. It was an act of desperation. She normally avoided
reading newspapers. She turned to the comics, then the women's
section. She was about to toss the paper back down when her
attention was caught by a picture of a young girl. She was an
amazingly pretty girl, Lynn thought, even though she had done her
best to disguise the fact with long, straight hair, flowered,
bell-bottomed pants, a sweater so tight it made her look like a
tart, and a medallion that dangled in such a way as to call even
further attention to her large bust. It was a human-interest
story about what the reporter had called a "hippie love-nest
tragedy." It seemed that one Maxwell Kern had died from an
overdose of drugs, and a sexy picture of his teen-aged mistress
could be calculated to sell a few newspapers. The girl, Ellen,
had refused to cooperate by looking either tragic or regretful.
She merely looked bored.
"At least she's alive," Lynn muttered aloud, "not half-dead
and stuck in a no man's land like this."
The no man's land was the rather modern and comfortable home
of her older sister, Shirley Dryerson. Her own "half-dead"
condition was a slight exaggeration. She was simply bored, lonely
and, in general, full of discontent with life. At twenty-six,
Lynn had taught school for five years and had been married for
three. On the day her divorce had become final, she had been
notified by the school board that they did not intend to renew her
contract as a teacher for the coming year. When Shirley and Sam
had offered to take her in while she made the adjustment to her
new, sharply reduced status, she had accepted gratefully. Now she
found herself wishing she had done almost anything else than run
scared through the first door opened to her.
The trouble was, she conceded bitterly, that Shirley and Sam
both worked days and had no social life evenings. That left Lynn
exactly nowhere. The rest of the trouble was, she admitted, that
she, Lynn Charles, was a sissy who didn't have the nerve to go to
a cocktail lounge, get herself picked up, taken to a hotel room
and thoroughly screwed, which, of course, was what she really
wanted and missed most of all.
"Goddamnit!" she cursed in a way that would have shocked the
school board as much as her divorce had shocked them, "what the
hell does a divorcee with hot pants do anyway?" It was a good
question and Lynn wasn't the first grass widow to ask it without
receiving any ready answer. It was midmorning. She had washed
the dishes and cleaned the house. What now remained as a means of
passing the next six hours until Shirley and Sam came home to eat
the dinner she would prepare and then watch television until the
late-late show? Lynn hated television as much as she despised
newspapers. She could, she supposed, take a bath. Hardly an
exciting prospect, but it would kill an hour.
She undressed in the bathroom, performing the unnecessary
ritual of weighing herself. While the tub was running, she
studied her nude reflection in the full-length mirror on the back
of the bathroom door. She was a redhead who had miraculously
escaped the redhead's curse of freckles. Her skin was a golden
bronze all over, for, on the few fog-free days of the San
Francisco summer, she took full advantage of the Dryerson sun deck
at the rear of the house. She had green, slightly slanted eyes
and a mouth that made up in sensuality for its somewhat overly
generous proportions. She was tall and slender, but it was a
healthy thinness, not the emaciated slenderness of a fashion
model. Her breasts, while not large, were ideally shaped, the
magenta nipples delicate and small. Her waist was narrow, her
body flaring below it to womanly hips and tapering again to
sweetly rounded thighs at the juncture of which was an arrowhead
of auburn hair.
"Not bad," she murmured, "but what the hell good is it to me
if I don't use it? Somewhere in San Francisco there must be a man
who would dearly love to get my clothes off, play with all my
goodies and then stick his big, fat, lovely cock in my pussy and
bang hell out of me until I yelled for mercy. They have college
courses in home economics, the modern dance and even karate. Why
don't they have one on how to get fucked?"
She sighed and stepped into the tub, settling herself in the
sudsy water. She allowed the warmth and the quiet to induce a
lassitude that soon verged on sleep and made no effort to dispel
an erotic fantasy that began to weave its way through her half-
awake mind. She snapped back to consciousness when she became
aware that in the midst of her imaginings she had allowed one hand
to drift to her crotch and that she was gently massaging her
clitoris.
"Good grief!" she gasped, sitting upright in the tub. "I
haven't done that since I was fifteen! Oh well, what the hell?
It does feel good, and if I'm going to be an old maid I might as
well go the whole route." She lay back down and again put her
fingers to her vagina. With the other hand she touched one of her
nipples and experimentally rubbed it with the tip of a finger.
Not like having a man's hand or mouth there, but better than
nothing.
Lynn was so preoccupied with the new method she had found to
entertain herself that she failed to hear the front door open or
the sound of masculine feet on the carpeted floor of the living
room. She was not aware that she was no longer alone in the house
until the bathroom door was shoved open.
"Oops!" Sam exclaimed as he hastily backed out. "Sorry,
Lynn, but the door was unlocked and I had to go."
"It's okay," she called out. "What are you doing home this
time of day?" She was startled but not particularly embarrassed.
Nothing but her head and knees had shown above the soapy water,
and she was thankful that he had not been able to see that she had
been masturbating. Nevertheless, she was trembling a little as
she got out of the tub, hastily dried and wrapped a towel around
her body. "All clear," she said.
"I came home for some business papers," Sam said as he
started to pass her. "I should have ..." His voice dwindled, and
he stopped in front of her. His expression changed abruptly at
sight of her standing there, unclothed but for the towel. His
face registered shock and the beginnings of desire.
"Lynn, I ... I ..."
She was as shocked as Sam, but mostly at the wild,
unprecedented thoughts that were surging through her mind. She
blushed furiously. Nothing would have happened had she not, in
turning to slide past him, let the towel slip so that it fell to
one side.
He took it as an invitation. Looking back on it afterward,
she couldn't blame him, couldn't be sure that some subconscious
impulse had not caused her to drop the towel. She struggled in
his arms, though, telling him to stop and that they couldn't do
this because he was married to her sister.
"What the hell has Shirley got to do with it?" he muttered,
kissing her and holding her tightly, one hand falling to her
buttocks. "I want you, Lynn. Damnit! I've wanted you since the
day you first came here. Shirley will never know."
"We mustn't," she insisted, but despite herself she found
that she was grinding her hips against him, feeling the hardness
of his cock through his pants and knowing that she was so weak
from desire that she could never resist him. When he bent his
head and took one of her nipples in his mouth, she was lost ...
lost beyond any hope of recovery and she didn't give a damn.
Nothing mattered now except having him.
Her bedroom was across the hall, and he took her there with
no resistance on her part, took her there and fell across the bed
with her. He kissed her breasts, her stomach and her thighs,
fumbling all the time with his belt until he had his pants down.
Then he mounted her, punching his hard prick in ineffectual haste
at her crotch until she took it in her hands and guided the head
of it to her opening. It went in as smoothly as though they had
been doing it with each other every day. She wrapped her long,
lovely legs around him, pulling him even deeper into her.
"Now fuck me!" she commanded, her whisper hoarse and urgent.
"Oh, fuck me, Sam! "
"Yes," he agreed, "this is what I want, Lynn. Oh, Lynn,
honey, I've thought about you all day, every day for months. When
I make love to Shirley, I'm screwing you."
"Hush," she told him. "Just fuck me. I love your cock
inside of me."
"Suppose I get you pregnant?"
"I don't give a shit. Just fuck me, damnit!"
They did it quickly and convulsively. Both were in such a
rage of sudden passion for each other that they came, almost
together, in a matter of moments. The roaring beat was like the
crashing finale of a great orchestra, and their movements on the
bed were wild and jerky as they strove with mad desperation to
merge their bodies. She nearly fainted with delight as she felt
his hot cum fill her, and her own orgasm was a tearing, rending,
destructive thing that seemed to demolish her as though a bomb had
exploded in her womb.
"My God!" Sam exclaimed when he lay exhausted and shaking on
top of her. "I never knew it could be like this. I had girls
before Shirley, but they were nothing compared to you--and neither
is she."
"I thought you loved Shirley."
He shrugged. "I suppose I do. At least I'm used to her.
Frankly, Lynn, Shirley and I bore hell out of each other. She's a
dud in bed. I'd like to experiment around a little, but she's a
damned prude. I've never done anything out of the ordinary but,
for Christ's sake, I know there's more to it than just screwing.
She won't even talk about it."
Lynn was interested. She had read some books on the subject,
but had been unable to arouse an equal amount of interest in her
own husband. She suspected that, like Shirley, he was a prude.
"Tell me about those things," she urged Sam.
He looked embarrassed. "They're hard to talk about. If
you're willing, we could just go ahead and do them. Are you
willing, Lynn?"
"Why not? No use worrying now about whether what we're doing
is right or not. We might as well live it up. Do you have to go
right back to the office?"
"No, I can think of some excuse later. I'm getting another
hard just talking about ... you know what. I want to kiss your
pussy. I've always wanted to do that to a girl, but I've never
had the nerve before to ask."
"Be my guest," Lynn said with a nervous laugh, "but shouldn't
you get undressed? I'd like to see the rest of your body."
"All right." He stripped off the remainder of his clothes
and returned to the bed. He petted her, letting his hands learn
the excitingly sculptured contours of her thighs. She, in turn,
took his cock in her hand and stroked it, loving the slippery
feeling of pre-orgasmic semen.
"Now," he said. "I hope you like this, Lynn."
"Don't worry about me. I just hope you like doing it to me.
It must be a lot like masturbation. That was what I was doing
when you came in the bathroom. Your timing was terrific, Sam.
That was why I was so hot I couldn't say no."
"I'm glad," he murmured as he slid down on the bed and turned
around to bury his face in her crinkly patch of auburn hair.
She spread her legs for him, excitement mounting in her as
she felt his mouth and tongue on her vulva. "Oh, yes!" she cried,
"it is good. It's a lovely sensation. Suck my clitoris, Sam.
It's so wonderful I can hardly stand it!" Her head was pillowed
on his leg and she had her hand on his cock, its blind face with
the tiny, gaping mouth only inches from her nose. She could smell
her own body musk, a strangely compelling perfume. Impulsively
she moved forward so that the round, reddish head touched her lips
and then, urged on by a compulsion she had not anticipated, she
opened her mouth and let the next thrust of his hips shove the
satiny shaft between her teeth. Once it was in her mouth she
sucked eagerly to engulf more. She was not satisfied until the
head of it was at the back of her throat.
Sam's efforts, while somewhat inept, lacked nothing in
enthusiasm. He drew the soft, membranous flesh into his mouth and
licked furiously at her clitoris, his hands delighting in the
spongy flesh of her buttocks as he drew her closer to him.
Lynn knew that she had been right only in part--it was like
masturbation, but a thousand times better. His avid tongue was
driving her toward another quick orgasm, and she didn't want it
that way. She wanted it to last and last because she wanted to go
on sucking his cock as long as possible. My God, she thought.
What I've been missing! To hell with living here like a damned
troll in a cave. Tomorrow she'd go out on the town and suck every
cock she could find!
She held back from the impending orgasm, but that only served
to increase the inferno of passion that stormed in her, the strain
on tortured nerves and on a body that longed for release.
Clutching each other tightly, they twisted and turned, undulating
on the bed like an oddly shaped monster with legs on both ends,
and they uttered blubbery sounds as of anguish. Then she felt his
prick swell in her mouth and knew that he was about to come. She
let herself go, wanting to scream with the sweet agony of it, yet
not able to because her mouth was full of cock and was filling
faster than she could swallow with the ambrosial stuff that gushed
from him. She nearly choked, but managed to get it all down her
throat; then it was over. Still they clung to each other, neither
willing to admit that it had ended. As their bodies jerked in
ever diminishing spasms of dying lust, they continued to suck each
other hopefully until at last they realized that they could expect
no more.
Sam sat up and turned around, and they lay with their arms
about each other, murmuring endearments and kissing.
"I'll get a divorce from Shirley," he told her. "You'll
marry me, won't you?"
She looked at him, startled. "Of course not! I'm not in
love with you, and I wouldn't think of breaking up my sister's
home. What we're doing is bad enough without that."
"But I can't do without you. All right then, if you won't
marry me, at least live here with us always, and we can find
chances to do this. After having you, I can't stand going to bed
with Shirley."
Lynn shook her head. "No, Sam. This has been fun, and it
was just what I needed, but we can't get away with it forever.
She'd be bound to find out before long. Besides, I'm not going to
be true to you. I want other men now ... lots of other men. I'd
like to suck all the cocks in San Francisco!"
He was shocked and said so. They argued awhile, but then the
lure of each other's bodies proved too great, and before long they
were back at it again, sucking each other greedily. It took them
longer and left them more exhausted than before, so tired, in
fact, that they went to sleep that way.
* * *
A sedan pulled into the curb a block from the Dryerson home.
The man at the wheel turned to the blonde girl beside him and
would have put his arm around her, but she moved away from him.
"Not here, Bob," Shirley Dryerson said. "Some of the
neighbors may be watching. You're a glutton. We've done it twice
since we left the office. I love these afternoons when the boss
goes to see his mistress and we can sneak out early, but let's
don't spoil it by getting caught."
He laughed. "Yeah, I love them, too, but they aren't enough
for me, Shirley. Christ! I can't ever get enough of you. When
are you going to divorce that guy and marry me?"
She shrugged. "Don't be impatient, honey. Sam won't be easy
to divorce. I don't think he's got enough guts to do anything to
give me grounds. I've got my sister staying with me. You should
see her, Bob. She's beautiful and so hot she'd screw anything
with a cock. And do you think that stupid husband of mine makes
passes at her? Hah! He acts like she was part of the furniture.
Would I ever like to catch them together! I'd take him for the
works, believe me."
"Okay," Bob replied grudgingly, "but don't make me wait too
long. Nobody can see this. At least, goddamnit, let me get
another feel." He put his hand under her thigh and worked it by
the leg of her panties to touch her moist, warm crotch, and then
slid it further under her and into the cleft between her buttocks
to run his middle finger its full length up her anus.
"Don't, Bob!" Shirley gasped. "You know what that does to
me. Quit it or I'll make you take me back to that motel and fuck
me in the ass again." Her body was tense and her face showed the
strain of the lustful emotions that rampaged through her.
"Tomorrow night!" she whispered fiercely. "I'll try to get away
for a while tomorrow night! I'll try to think of some excuse.
Oh, Bob!" He still had his finger in her ass and had bent his
head to her lap, pulling aside the nylon of her panties and
running his tongue into her vulva until it touched her clitoris.
"Now stop!" she commanded sharply and pulled away from him
again. "Meet me at the usual place tomorrow night." Then she
slipped out of the car and trotted up the sidewalk. She looked
back once to see the grimace of chagrin and frustration on his
face before she hurried on to her house.
The front door was unlocked, so she went in without knocking
and was on her way to her bedroom when she heard a noise that
caused her to look in the open door across the hallway from the
bathroom. She stopped, stunned with surprise at what she saw.
Lynn and Sam lay naked on the bed. Sam snored gently into Lynn's
crotch and his limp cock was in Lynn's mouth. Shirley gazed upon
this entrancing scene for several moments, a wide smile on her
lips. It couldn't, she decided, have been more perfect if she had
staged it herself. Then she wiped the smile from her face and,
setting herself for the effort, she screamed at the top of her
lungs.
* * *
"It's better this way," Sam told Lynn at the airport the next
day. "You go on to Honolulu until Shirley cools down. She'll
want a divorce, of course, and getting it all settled will be
messy. I'll join you there as soon as I can. That's your flight
they're calling. 'Bye, darling. See you soon."
She kissed him lightly and turned to the counter where an
airline employee was validating tickets. The girl ahead of her in
the line seemed vaguely familiar, but Lynn supposed she must be
mistaken. She had to admit, rather regretfully, that she didn't
know any hippies. Then the girl turned and Lynn saw her profile.
Of course! This was the girl in the newspaper ... Ellen
something-or-other. What a coincidence that they should be going
to Hawaii on the same plane.
She wondered if they would sit together.
Chapter 3
Her stage name was Kalola Kalikimaka.
She was billed at The Polynesian Paradise night club as an
exotic fire dancer from Samoa, daughter of a chief. She was
neither the daughter of a chief nor a Samoan. Her real name was
Mary Kulihi and she had been born in the Palmyra, the old tenement
district of Honolulu where her mother, a stout, good-natured
Korean woman, ran a home laundry, and her father, a fat, happy
half-Hawaiian, sat on the rickety front porch in the shade of the
bougainvillea and drank beer.
Kalola was a very good dancer, as she certainly should have
been. She had started practicing when she was four. She was also
a very homesick little girl, as are all natives when they leave
the islands of their birth. But Kalola could put up with being
homesick because she was in love.
Jimmy Murphy was an American sailor, five years older than
Kalola's eighteen. He was stationed on Treasure Island in San
Francisco Bay and, being a yeoman in the executive office, rated
liberty every night, a fortuitous circumstance that made it
possible for he and Kalola to live very happily together in sin.
He tended to be a bit vague on the subject of marriage and their
future, but Kalola never doubted for one moment that they would
eventually marry. Until he had seduced her, she had been an
entirely innocent girl and, in her heart, she still was, for a
childlike simplicity and sunny disposition were a natural part of
her mixed racial heritage.
Except for the annoying presence of Herb Drew, night club
manager, she liked her job. Herb, a darkly handsome man of forty,
considered all female entertainers at the club as primarily there
for his personal benefit and enjoyment. He usually succeeded in
bedding them, but his best efforts had been of no avail with
Kalola. In desperation, he had even forced his way into her
dressing room while she was changing and had held her by brute
strength while fondling her breasts. Kalola had bided her time
until he had relaxed his hold, then had brought a knee up forcibly
into his crotch. For nearly a week after that, Herb had seemed to
lose all interest in sex and had walked about backstage like a man
riding an invisible horse, while glowering and muttering darkly at
everyone he met. He had never bothered her again.
The drums rolled in a final flurry as Kalola completed her
dance, her bronzed body glistening in the light of the two torches
she dexterously twirled with such speed that they seemed hoops of
fire. She ended by tossing them into the air and catching them as
she ran from the stage. She returned to a prolonged applause to
take a bow, then hurried offstage to her dressing room.
Carefully locking the door from the inside, she divested
herself of the six flower leis she wore, the skimpy halter top and
the short, imitation grass skirt. Then she removed her make-up
with theatrical cream and quickly donned street clothes. She
smiled happily at her naked reflection in the mirror, glad of the
fate that had granted her skin as smooth as brown silk, breasts
that jutted enticingly from her upper body and hips and thighs,
developed from years of dancing into twin perfections of
breathlessly lovely shape. She had long known that her
seductively contoured form and piquantly beautiful face were great
assets in show business, but now she was particularly pleased with
her natural endowments because they pleased Jimmy. He praised her
and petted her and could keep neither his hands nor his lips off
of her body when they were together. And that made it an
equitable arrangement, because she couldn't keep her hands off of
him either. He had taught her to make love, and now she lived
only for the hours when they lay together, white and brown bodies
entwined as they struggled in the frenzied, panting, rapturous
dance of passion.
Kalola left the night club by the back door and took a city
bus to the apartment she shared with her lover in the Marina
District. Jimmy met her at the door and swept her into his arms.
She was glad he had just gotten there and had not yet had time to
change from his uniform. She loved the feel of the dark-blue
broadcloth with its contrasting white stripes, rating badge and
single red hashmark. They kissed hungrily and he, as usual,
dropped a hand to raise her skirt in back and caress the firm,
rounded flesh of her buttocks. Everything was exactly as it had
always been with them ... and yet it wasn't. Kalola thought she
detected a note of preoccupation, almost absentmindedness, in the
kiss and in the caressing hands.
"Whatsa matta you, fella jimboy?" she asked anxiously.
"Nothing. For crissake quit talking pidgin," he responded
irritably.
She was instantly and deeply hurt. It was the first time he
had ever voiced an objection to the inland English she often used
with him as a kind of lover's baby talk. She knew now that
something real was troubling him, but she was too wise in the ways
of a woman to let him see her hurt. She would wait and he would
tell her when he was ready. She knew the kind of therapy he
needed. She ran a hand down the front of his trousers, feeling
for his cock through the tight material.
Jimmy stood tense and still for a moment, then he relaxed.
"Gosh, Kalola honey, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm just--" She
silenced him with her lips on his.
"Undress me," she whispered around the corner of the kiss.
"Take my clothes off, Jimmy, and kiss my titties."
He hesitated, seeming for a moment on the point of refusing,
and then, with a groan, he unzipped her dress at the back and let
it fall to the floor. She wore no underwear.
"Now you," she said. "Hurry, Jimmy." While he struggled to
pull his jumper off over his broad shoulders, Kalola knelt and
undid the thirteen buttons of his trousers. She pulled them down
and his shorts as well, clasping her arms around his hips and
pulling him toward her so that his stiffening cock was cuddled
against her cheek. She showered avid kisses on the thick shaft of
it, on his belly and thighs. She reluctantly disengaged herself
from him only long enough to remove his shoes and socks, then they
hurried, arm in arm, to the bedroom.
She lay back across the bed to let him lean over her and suck
greedily at the dark brown of her nipples, his tongue and teeth
sending thrills chasing through her that made her squirm with
mounting desire. She closed her eyes and rocked her head from
side to side, her long, black hair fanned out on the pink of the
chenille bedspread, her knees bent and her heels hooked under the
edge of the mattress.
He lowered his head from her breasts to the taut skin of her
stomach, his wet lips and tongue leaving a trail of moisture
across her brown hide.
"Now do it to me! Oh, do it to me good, Jimmy!" she pleaded.
He mounted her and thrust his cock into her open and
receptive vagina as she cried out in ecstasy. As he fucked it
into her, she pulled his face down to hers and sucked his tongue
into her mouth. Her hips rose to meet his and she felt his long,
hard cock probe deeply, the head of it bumping its way past the
mouth of her womb until it hit bottom. He continued to push at
her, creating a little thrill of pain with each lunge of his body.
This was what she loved most of all, the bigness and the length of
him and the fact that he filled her so completely that doing it
with him was both painful and heavenly. Tonight he was
particularly rough with her, as though taking his earlier flash of
irritability out on her body, punishing her for loving him too
much, for demanding and getting too much of him. She cried out in
pain and passion and strained for more, willing him to give her a
physical pain to erase the memory of the other hurt he had
inflicted on her.
Jimmy Murphy was actually neither very experienced nor very
adept as a lover. But Kalola in her innocence didn't know that.
She thought he was the greatest fucker who had ever lived. On the
occasions when he came before she did, leaving her aching and
frustrated, she forgave him easily, supposing that such was her
lot in life and all she could expect as her share of intercourse.
Her passion mounted, welling and growing in her like the
froth on boiling waters, until her body lost all meaning except as
a chalice for his prick and a capsule to contain the screaming
nerves that had become her. It was one of her lucky nights. She
was able to have her orgasm just before he did. Their locked
bodies continued to writhe and twitch in unison with the fading
pulses of dying sensation that still shook them in surges of
decreasing power.
"Jimmy," she whispered, her dark eyes adoring him, "I'll bet
no other guy in the world can make love like you."
Jimmy frowned and looked uncomfortable. "I've been keeping
track," he said, not meeting her eyes directly. "You know how
long it's been since your last period?"
"Hunh?" She looked blank and then startled and admitted she
didn't know.
"Nearly two months," he told her accusingly. "You aren't
pregnant, are you?"
Kalola's eyes became round with mild shock as this new idea
penetrated her mind, then she smiled radiantly. "Gee! Do you
think I might be? Wouldn't that be wonderful, Jimmy?"
His frown deepened. "You better not be," he told her
threateningly, "or we're in a helluva mess. I just got orders
today that I'm being transferred back East ... Brooklyn Navy
Yard."
He had just dropped a bomb into the middle of her life and
blown it to hell. Yet he seemed unaware of what he had done. He
couldn't understand her heartbreak and grew angry with her when
she cried and begged. As if it explained everything, he casually
announced that he was already married anyway and what the hell had
she expected?
A sunny disposition was not the only thing Kalola's
conglomerate, racial heritage had bequeathed her. Her slanted
eyes narrowed to slits and her lips curled into a snarl of rage as
she hurled herself at him with clawing fingernails and flailing
feet and knees. He managed to barricade himself in the bathroom
until her temper had cooled, then he wisely gathered up his
uniform and fled, leaving Kalola sobbing and screaming on the bed.
He had been gone from the apartment for an hour when she sat
up and looked around her. Her face was puffed from crying, but
her eyes were now dry and her mouth was set in hard lines such as
it had never before known.
"Okay, you goddamn sonomobeech. I show you pretty damn good,
hunh," she muttered aloud, lapsing back into the pidgin of her
childhood in the slums of Honolulu. She went to the living room,
fumbled through the phone book and found a number. She dialed it,
and when a man's voice answered, she said: "Mista Drew? This is
Kalola. You no mad at me fo' kick you in nuts? Okay. You still
wanta fuck me, I come you house. Sure, I come now, I stay you
house all night, you fuck me plenty, yeah?" She hung up the
receiver on its cradle.
"I show you, sailorboy shitty basta'd," she said as she
pulled on her clothes.
A bewildered Herb Drew met Kalola at the door of his
apartment. He wasn't at all sure what he was letting himself in
for, but the powerful yen he had developed for the little brown
dancer was greater even than his still vivid memory of an aching
scrotum. "Come in," he greeted her. "I'm glad you've changed
your mind. Can I fix you a drink?"
"Sure. We get plenty drunk, hunh? And we fucky-fucky all
night, too."
"Suits me," Herb agreed, "although I'll be damned if I can
figure why you decided to give me a little at two o'clock in the
morning." He poured her a double shot and watched her toss it off
with no apparent effort, a thing he thought strange when he knew
for a fact she did not drink.
"Come on," she said, "let's go sackside. You bring one
bottle, fella. Okay?"
Herb shrugged and followed her into the bedroom, noting that
she was unzipping her dress and stepping out of it as she walked.
He undressed and they had another drink, then he lowered himself
to the bed and drew her to him.
It was no part of Kalola's plan to enjoy herself with Herb
Drew. What she was doing was strictly for revenge. What she had
not counted on was the stimulating effects of the whiskey and that
Herb was an accomplished roue, quite expert at his chosen
avocation. She did notice, with more interest than she had
intended to have, that his cock was much larger than Jimmy
Murphy's. She had been sure that the sailor had the world's
largest prick, but now she saw that he had been only a boy after
all.
"I know a few tricks, baby," Herb said as he squeezed her
breasts and regarded her shapely body with all the honest
appreciation of the true connoisseur. "How do you want it?"
"I no give a damn," Kalola answered coldly.
"All right," he agreed. "In that case, honey, I'd like to
suck your cunt. I've had a tongue hard-on ever since I first saw
you dance."
She had not the slightest notion what he meant, but she
watched with some interest as he slid down on the bed and put his
head between her thighs. When his tongue shot into her, she still
did not understand, but when he began expertly sucking and lapping
her clitoris, she suddenly got the idea.
She lay there, a withdrawn and frigid statue, hating him
because he was a man and white but hating Jimmy Murphy even more.
She managed to maintain her frozen pose for nearly five minutes.
But Herb's cunning tongue was not to be denied. In spite of
herself, Kalola became aware of a very pleasant sensation that was
tingling its way up through her nervous system. It grew and grew,
blossoming with every passing second and with every stroke of the
educated tongue. She fought against it, not wanting to like what
he was doing and not wanting to like him. But the whiskey was her
undoing; it had both stimulated her and lowered the bars of her
inhibitions. In a matter of moments her hips were rotating in
time with the beat of Herb's tongue and her hands were clenching
and unclenching on the bedspread.
With her mind, Kalola was hating him, and hating herself for
what she was doing with him, but she was being like the priest in
the story who explained why he seduced the nun by saying: "From
the belly button up I am a priest; from the waist down I am still
a man." Her body was treacherously refusing to obey the dictates
of her mind.
Herb Drew was enjoying himself and deriving much more than
the normal satisfaction from this erotic love-play. Not only was
he fulfilling a burning ambition, but in a way he was also
revenging himself for the misery she had dealt him with her hard
little knee. Time after time he brought her to the very edge of
an orgasm and then slackened his efforts, only to start all over
again the moment she began to relax. He managed to keep it up for
an hour, reveling in the mildly sadistic pleasure of knowing that
he had reduced her to a helpless, moaning lump of over-sensitized
jelly, her nerves so finely drawn that every touch of his tongue
or fingers drove her to the verge of screaming insanity. Only
when his own desire had reached the point where he could no longer
control it did he relent. He suddenly reared up from his position
between her quivering thighs and thrust his massive cock into her
with ruthless force. She did scream then, but as much from
pleasure as from pain. He could have made her come with one or
two well-calculated strokes, but still he held off, tantalizing
her while treating her to more excruciatingly poignant sensations
that she had ever before known.
"Beg for it, you beautiful, little brown bitch," he gasped.
Kalola looked up at him with wild eyes, her pride and her
hate forgotten. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes, I beg. Do it. Make me
come!"
He leered. "Say please."
"Please! Please, please, please!"
"That's better, goddamn you. Kick me in the nuts, will you?
I'll have you on the floor licking my feet before this night is
over."
"Okay. Anything! But please make me come."
Grinning savagely, he increased the tempo of his plunging
prick. When he felt her cunt begin to work convulsively, he let
himself go, filling her with the viscous, sticky stuff.
She thought her strength gone, her body weakened from the
strain of the hour in which he had tortured her, but when she felt
him gushing into her, it was as though he were injecting her with
new power. She arched her back so violently that she lifted him a
foot off the bed. Her strong legs clamped his thighs with the
strength of a maddened octopus, her heels drumming on his buttocks
as she tried to drive him even deeper into her. Her orgasm was
devastating, a thing of total, bodily involvement. She felt that
she was melting in the heat of her own passion ... melting and
running like a river of fire into the white-hot chalice of her own
cunt.
It was over and yet it was not. Herb would not let it be
over. Where Jimmy had been content after screwing her to light a
cigarette or roll over and go to sleep, Herb gave her not even a
moment in which to collect herself or to enjoy the deep, somnolent
pleasure of passion's afterglow. He withdrew from her and
immediately began to suck her nipples while his fingers did a
light dance on her sensitized body. When she protested feebly, he
ignored her plea and began making a tour of her body with the tip
of his tongue. He drew it across her stomach and her ribs, down
the length of her leg to her feet and up the other leg. He even
rolled her over to give her back the same treatment, kissing and
biting at her buttocks, then spreading them to tantalize the brown
button of her anus, licking it until she was in a frenzy of new
excitement and even forcing the tip of his tongue into the tight
orifice.
She couldn't imagine why he was doing such a thing, but she
didn't care. She was pleading with him to fuck her again. She
was not aware of his intention until he had pushed her onto her
side, hunched himself up close to her back and had the head of his
cock started into her asshole. She struggled, but he was too
strong for her. She screamed in real pain as he thrust strongly
into her. She would have fought him, but he reached over her hip
and thrust his hand in her crotch, his fingers finding her
clitoris and agitating it. She forgot the pain then, even
relishing it and letting it help her toward another orgasm. He
made her come three times that way, then began another long siege
of teasing until she was again a bundle of agonized nerves and
begging for release.
"Okay," he told her, "take it in your mouth and I'll fix you
up. Otherwise, I'll keep you going like this all night."
"I don't do that. It's dirty."
"Suit yourself."
"Fuck me in the ass again. I liked that."
"No, I'm tired of it. Suck my cock or I'll go down on you
and I won't let you come either."
"Okay, but you make me come soon, hunh?"
"After you swallow my jism, baby."
He turned around on the bed and, putting a hand behind her
head, thrust his dripping, shit-flecked prick between her lips.
Kalola dutifully sucked. It seemed a strange and nasty thing to
be doing until he put his face to her crotch and began licking her
pussy. Then, when her passion had again been aroused to an
intense pitch, she began to like the feel and the taste of him in
her mouth. When he came, she swallowed rapidly and milked the
shaft with her hand to extract the last drop of semen. She
continued to hold his cock in her mouth as he worked her clitoris
and brought her to another wild climax.
* * *
"You better go home now, kiddo. You got a show to do this
afternoon," Herb said sleepily at six o'clock in the morning.
"I don't want to go," Kalola rejoined. "Why can't I just
stay here with you, Herb? Tonight, after work, I'll fix dinner
for you. I'm a good cook Hawaiian style. Then we can go to bed
and fuck and suck all night again."
He regarded her coldly. "I see you don't get the picture,"
he told her. "I never screw the same girl twice, honey. You're a
great little piece of ass, but, frankly, seconds on you would bore
hell out of me. Run along now. It was fun. Let's let it go at
that."
Considering the scene she had made when Jimmy Murphy had
rejected her, Kalola went very quietly. She went to her own
apartment, called an airline for reservations, packed and took a
cab to the airport. She was going home and she would never again
in her lifetime come to the mainland never even want to hear it
mentioned.
She got in line to validate her ticket behind a beautiful,
red-haired girl and a pretty blonde dressed like a hippie.
Chapter 4
It required only two hundred miles of cottony white clouds,
as seen from several miles above a sparkling blue Pacific, for the
three girls to become acquainted. Seated together on the
starboard side of the aircraft, they made an interesting study in
contrasts with Kalola's dark, exotic beauty, the blonde prettiness
of Ellen Canfield, and Lynn, the vivid and vivacious redhead.
By the four-hundred-mile point, they had begun to tell each
other their troubles.
"I saw your picture in the paper," Lynn sympathized with
Ellen. "How terrible for you for your ... her ... husband to die
that way."
Ellen regarded her blankly. Then her lazy, pretty mouth
curled into a smile that was half sincere. "You mean like the
papers said, from an overdose of 'L'? Bullshit, darling. Maxy
fucked himself to death, and don't start thinking what a lucky
girl I was either. The son of a bitch didn't screw himself into
the next world on me. He got tired of me after the first week.
All I did after that was hustle for him to keep him in bread."
"Men are dirty bastards," Kalola put in, her eyes slitting
and her lips forming a hard, bitter line. "I will never be nice
to another man. I will take them for everything I can get from
them ... after I have made them screw me, of course."
"My own experience with them has not been so good," Lynn
confessed. "My own husband divorced me for no better reason than
because he happened to catch me playing with his best friend's
cock. Now, mind you, we hadn't done a thing. It was at a party
and we'd all been drinking. I'd been dancing with this man and he
got a hard-on, and all I did was take it out and stroke it a
little."
"And they think they're so superior," Kalola snorted, "the
narrow-minded, nasty, selfish bastards!"
Ellen nodded in sympathetic agreement.
"What will you do in the islands?" Kalola asked her.
Ellen shrugged and looked vague. "I don't know. I hear
there's a nice hippie colony out on Oahu. Max had two kilos of
pot stashed away. I sold it for enough to get a plane ticket. I
still got a half a kilo and a dozen tabs each of LSD, mescaline
and speed. That'll get me by for a while."
"You're better off than I am," Lynn said. "That cheap
brother-in-law of mine gave me only three hundred dollars. I
guess I'll have to find me a little grass shack on the beach and
live off of bananas."
Kalola looked at her pityingly. "Boy, you malihini wahines
sure got plenty to learn. If you find a grass shack anywhere, it
will be on top of a high-rise apartment building and cost you two
hundred bucks a month. They catch you swiping bananas they put
you in jail and forget they got you in there."
"What is a malihini wahine?" Lynn asked.
"Wahine is girl," Kalola replied, "and malihini is newcomer
... like tenderfoot or greenhorn. You'll be lucky to find an
apartment at all. I've got friends who live in what we call 'The
Jungle.' That's the poor people's district off the main street in
Waikiki. Sometimes you can get an apartment there for a hundred a
month ... you pay the gas and lights."
"Why don't the three of us try to find one together?" Lynn
suggested. "Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Sure," Kalola agreed, "but I don't know what we'll do for a
living. You don't know anything but teaching school, and I guess
I can't get a job dancing ... not after walking out on my contract
in San Francisco."
"Why don't we all turn pro?" Ellen asked. "Seems to me, with
all the rich tourists and other squares there, we ought to make
out okay by whoring."
"Probably have to," Kalola agreed.
"I wouldn't mind," Lynn said. "But maybe there's a better
way. I have a very good camera with me, and I'm something of an
amateur photographer. We can probably rig up a darkroom to
develop our own pictures. What I had in mind was blackmail. We
pick out an important man and one of us brings him to the house.
When you both have your clothes off and things are getting real
interesting, one of the others can take the pictures. With infra-
red film you don't even have to have light."
The other two looked at Lynn with suddenly increased respect.
"Maybe you're not so malihini after all," Kalola said.
"Okay, I'll go see Joe Moto when we get to Waikiki. Maybe he's
got a house for us."
* * *
It has been said that the most charmingly Polynesian part of
Oahu is the International Airport at Honolulu. That this
atmosphere is deliberately and not too subtly contrived detracts
not one whit from the validity of the statement, for the rest of
the island is even more commercial, more of a tourist trap, and
even phonier.
Not that this meant a thing to Kalola. She was used to it
and expected nothing else. From the time the plane came in sight
of the crater of Haleakala on Maui, and then swung north to pick
up Diamond Head, she was happy because she was home. She didn't
need to hear the canned strains of "Beyond the Reef" to become
misty-eyed. The familiar scent of plume ria or pikake was enough
to strum the strings of her sentimental heart.
Ellen glanced disinterestedly about her with that bored and
blase attitude she considered most proper and becoming to a
hippie.
Lynn, on the other hand, was full of "ohs" and "ahs" and
behaved in the normal, rubberneck fashion of the typical tourist.
She had to be steered firmly by souvenir stands offering koa
ashtrays, ersatz grass skirts, ukeleles and numerous other items
... most of which had been made in Japan.
They took the airport bus to Kalakaua Avenue and were in the
heart of famed Waikiki, although all they could see of it were the
fronts of huge hotels, apartments, stores and honky-tonk spots.
"Isn't there supposed to be an ocean around here someplace?"
Lynn asked, disappointed.
"Oh, sure," Kalola replied. She waved a hand to the west.
"Somewhere out there beyond the hotels ... if some mainland real
estater hasn't drained it and started a new sub-division. Come
on. We go find Joe Moto." She led them down Lewers Street and
turned on Kuhio Avenue, stopping in front of an ancient frame
building with a faded sign on its porch. The sign depicted a
sick-looking palm tree. Beneath this time-worn cutout could be
seen the name, "Pacific Paradise Hotel." The grounds were shaded
by kukui trees and the moist, warm air was cloying with the sweet
scent of frangipani. Behind the office they could see, half
hidden by the lush, tropical growth of shrubs and flowers, a
number of small shacks that leaned awry on crumbling foundations.
A bandy-legged, squat and swarthy man with squinted slits of
eyes and a bald, bullet-shaped head, came out at Kalola's call.
He stood on the front porch, picking his teeth with a match stick
and regarding the three girls dubiously. "You come back, hunh?"
he greeted Kalola. "You want house now. Who these other
wahines?"
"Friends of mine," the little dancer told him. "Come on,
Joe, fix us up with a place. We plenty damned tired."
"I dunno," Joe said. He was eyeing Ellen, taking in her
flowered pants and the medallion hung between her large breasts.
"We don't want no hippies. Big trouble from cops alla time."
"Boy, you sure dumb," Kalola rejoined scornfully. "All rich
tourists from mainland dress hippie style now. Anyway, Ellen no
make you trouble. She damn good, hard-working whore."
"Oh," Joe Moto said. "Why didn't you say so? Okay, take
number four. It ain't locked." He started back into the house.
"Rent went up again while you was gone," he said. "You pay one-
twenty a month now."
"Jap sonomobeech!" Kalola muttered under her breath as she
led the two girls to number four. The two bedroom house was
permeated by the musty smell of mold and of rotting timbers. It
was permanently occupied by countless cockroaches, cane spiders
bigger than the inside of a tea cup and small lizards of all
colors.
"Is it a house or a goddamned zoo?" Lynn asked plaintively as
she looked for a spot free of insect life where she might deposit
her suitcase.
"You'll get used to 'em," Kalola assured her. "Let's go
swimming."
They changed into bathing suits and walked the shaded streets
to the beach, a small semicircle of sand between two hotels and
crowded with people. They swam in the warm water and played in
the almost negligible surf, then stretched out on the beach to
take the sun.
"Who should we start on?" Lynn asked as she wiped suntan
lotion on her gleaming thighs. "I mean where do we start looking
for a blackmail victim?"
"Wouldn't just whoring be simpler?" Ellen questioned, but
Kalola ignored her. Her forehead was wrinkled in thought.
"Hey!" she exclaimed, "I bet I know who we can take. Mike is
running for state senator. He's got a thing about blondes. With
election coming up, he'll be a cinch. You want to try him,
Ellen?"
Ellen shrugged. "Why not? The islands seem a funny place to
be making it with an Irish politician ... but what the hell."
"He's not Irish," Kalola explained. "His name is Mike Fuda.
He's jap. I can introduce you to him."
"Let's go home then," Lynn suggested. "I want to see about
turning that closet in my bedroom into a darkroom, and I have to
figure out where I can hide and get a shot of him and Ellen."
"You chicks go ahead," Ellen said lazily. "I'm gonna stay on
the beach awhile."
"Okay," Kalola agreed, "but be right here where we can find
you later. Soon as Lynn gets everything set up, I'm going to call
Mike Fuda and make a date for you. Mike goes for blondes like a
monkey goes for peanuts. He'll start at your toes and eat you
up."
Ellen shrugged. "I don't mind getting eaten. There was a
queer kid in San Francisco who'd come up to the pad every day to
eat my pussy, until that damned Max started charging him."
After the other two had left, Ellen slept for a while. She
awoke and sat up to light a cigarette and stare dreamily out at
the flat, shimmering expanse of blue that was the Pacific. She
felt no particular thrill at the knowledge that she was in the
Hawaiian Islands. To her, a beach was a beach and an ocean was
just a hell of a lot of water. Had Max not upset her life by
dying, she would as soon have been back in the dark, familiar
confines of the room they had shared in the building a block off
of Haight Street, San Francisco. When she thought of the many
friends, of both sexes, who had come there to make love to her on
the semen-stinking, urine-soaked mattress, she grew homesick and
wished she had not come to the islands in the first place.
She had no illusions concerning her chosen role in life as a
hippie girl. She was well aware of the fact that she was not a
real hippie and that the crowd she had met in the Hip Room were
nothing more than a group of moral degenerates who had found it
convenient to dress and talk like hippies as a cover for the
constant round of dissipation that had become a way of life for
them. Among those who had accepted Max as a leader, she had never
heard a discussion on any subject more serious than the high price
of dope, or how to stay stoned and sexually debauched without
working. She had mentioned moving to the hippie colony, but
doubted that she would be accepted by them. It suited her purpose
to remain with the two girls she had met on the plane. If they
wanted her to hustle for them, that was all right with her. She
thought that being a professional prostitute was the best job in
the world, and remembered with scorn her previous life as a
virginal secretary in an insurance office.
A young man, blond-haired and husky, came out of the water
before her. He stooped to retrieve a surfboard, tucked it under
his arm and came up the beach toward Ellen. He stopped in front
of her and stood there dripping, an appreciative grin on his face.
"Hi," he said. "You must be a new arrival. I haven't seen
you before. Do you surf?"
Ellen shook her head, her long, blonde hair rippling across
her back in the sunlight. "No. Is it fun? Why don't you tell me
about it?"
He sat down beside her and accepted one of her cigarettes.
He told her his name was Dan McCraken and that he was on summer
vacation from college on the mainland. "Surfing is groovy," he
assured her, "but not so good when the waves aren't up. Like that
out there." He waved his hand to indicate the listless, two-foot-
high surf. "That's strictly a bummer. What are you doing here?
Are you vacationing, too?"
Ellen smiled and failed to answer. She was quite adept at
not answering personal questions until she was ready. "You smoke
pot or drop acid?" she asked instead.
Dan hesitated a moment, then admitted that he had tried it a
few times.
"I thought you might have some friends who'd want to buy,"
she said. "In case you do, I'm holding."
"I might," he replied cautiously. "How about a date tonight?
We could go to a show."
Ellen regarded him intently. She saw that he was less mature
than she had first supposed. Still, he was big enough and old
enough. He was apparently dumb and innocent, but he had a good,
muscular body and, to her, cock was cock.
"Okay," she agreed, "but let's get everything understood
between us from the start. You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you?
You figure if you take me to the show, and maybe buy me a
hamburger, you can talk me into giving you a little. That right?
Well, why don't we save ourselves some time? I don't give a shit
about shows or hamburgers. I just like getting laid. So, if you
want to screw me, never mind the rest of that crap. Okay?"
Dan's prominent Adam's apple jerked up and down and he
blushed deeply under the peeling red and brown of his recently
acquired tan. "Gosh! I never met a girl like you before. Yeah,
if you want it, I sure do. You're the prettiest chick I've ever
seen."
"I don't want to wait until tonight, either," Ellen declared.
"There must be some place on this beach where we can do it."
"Sure," he said eagerly. "Up toward Diamond Head, there's a
little cover. Hardly anyone ever goes there. Wait 'til I leave
my board with some friends of mine." He rose and took his
surfboard over to where a group of youths his own age lolled on
the sand. He talked with them for a minute, then returned.
It was quite a long walk, but on the way Ellen confirmed her
belief that it was probably going to be worth it. As soon as they
were out of sight of the crowd, she slipped her hand inside Dan's
bathing trunks to feel his prick, ascertaining to her satisfaction
that his cock was fully man sized, and that it was already hard as
stone and throbbing with readiness.
She calculated that they would be gone no more than two
hours. Surely it would take Kalola and Lynn longer than that to
get the house fixed up the way they wanted it and arrange the date
with Mike Fuda for her.
The cove was as isolated as Dan had promised and was the
prettiest spot she had yet seen on the island. He led her to a
natural bower formed by red ginger and hibiscus. As they dropped
together to the warm, white sand, she was already taking off her
bikini top and Dan was staring in slack-jawed fascination at her
pink-tipped, creamy breasts as he fumbled to remove his own
shorts..
Ellen laughed. "You never see any tits before? Suck 'em,
buddy boy, they're vitamin enriched."
Danny did. He thought she was the strongest, boldest girl he
had ever met, but although she embarrassed him, she also inflamed
him with desire. She was certainly unlike any of the scrawny,
flat-chested, sun-bleached girls who ran with the surfing crowd in
California.
"Wipe the sand off of your cock and stick it in me," she
ordered as she tugged to make him roll over on top of her. "I
haven't been fucked since I left the mainland and I'm burning up.
Ah, yes! That's it! Goddamn, how I like having all that meat in
my cunt! Ram it to me, baby!"
Dan was fumbling and inept. She was only the third girl he
had ever done it with, although he talked big among the other boys
and bragged about imaginary couplings. Encouraged by her urging,
he let himself go, jamming his cock in and out of her hot,
grasping cunt with what he considered brutal force.
Ellen was disappointed. He came quickly, before she could,
pulling out of her to leave her frustrated and still passionate.
She sighed, realizing he didn't know any better. She would have
to pretend it was all right and try to get him ready again. The
second time would be different. He was grinning down at her,
obviously proud of himself and believing he had shown her a good
time. She kissed him and wiggled her hips suggestively. It was
no use. They'd have to wait.
At that moment a shadow fell across them, and she looked over
his shoulder to see another boy standing in the entrance to the
bower. She recognized him. He was one of the surfers with whom
Dan had left his board. Behind him were four others.
"What the hell you guys doing here?" Dan demanded angrily.
"We just thought we'd see how you were making out, little
buddy," the one nearest the entrance said, grinning wickedly. "We
thought you might need a little help."
"He sure does," Ellen replied for Dan, pushing him off of
her. "Line up, fellows. Better yet, if one of you wants some
asshole, I'll take you on two at a time."
Ignoring the protesting Dan, they crowded into the bower and
one stripped off his trunks, getting astride of her with no need
for further invitation. She let him enter her, then made him turn
on his side so she could raise one leg. "Come on," she said to
another of them, "do it in my ass. I like being double-decked."
She squealed with delight when the boy began working his
prick into her anus and the first one started humping her. She
imagined she could feel the two cocks almost touching each other
within her body. This was living, she thought exultantly. To
have hard, male bodies, smelling of sweat and salt water, filling
her and hammering at her, hands and eager mouths mauling and
sucking at her breasts, to know that this was happening while
others watched, waiting their turn while they stared with burning
eyes at her naked limbs, seeing the cocks tunneling into her ...
this was the only time she really came alive.
She saw that even Dan was getting another hard-on. She
rolled toward him. "Put it in my mouth," she told him. "Let me
suck it for you." Now she was complete, every body orifice fully
utilized, the three different kinds of sensation building in her
all at once. She began to come, going a little crazy with each
climax that followed one after the other in nearly continuous
procession, each one more poignantly ecstatic than the last. Then
her cunt, her ass and her mouth were suddenly full of cum, the
sticky, hot stuff flooding her as the boys grunted and cried out
in the wonderful agony of passion. Ellen came a final time
herself.
She was limp and weak when they pulled out of her, but only
for a minute. She called to the others, "Take me now ... the same
way. Hurry, don't let me cool off." They willingly mounted her
and fucked her with fresh enthusiasm. She looked up at one of the
boys who had just left her body. "If you know more guys, go get
them," she begged him. "I want a real gang-bang. Please!"
He pulled his trunks into position and trotted off on his
errand. He knew where he could usually find at least a dozen of
the surfer crowd hanging out.
It was two o'clock in the morning when Ellen walked into the
house on Kuhio Avenue. She hoped the other girls would be asleep,
but they were not. They were sitting in the living room, glaring
at her and tapping their fingers on chair arms. An empty bottle
and two glasses were on the end table between them, but they
weren't drunk ... just furious.
"I know ... I know," Ellen sighed wearily, holding up a hand
to forestall their attack. "I know I'm a cop-out and a bummer,
but I couldn't help it. You see, I met this surfer and it turned
out he had a bunch of friends and ... well ... the first thing I
knew it was too late to keep a date with Mike Fuda and ..."
* * *
Joe Moto stirred uneasily and came awake. He listened to the
commotion for a while. "I knew it," he scolded himself. "I knew
them three cunts would be nothing but big trouble. Lucky if
someone don't call the cops. Maybeso tomorrow I throw 'em out on
their asses." But he knew he wouldn't ... not as long as they
paid the exorbitant rent he was charging them. His Oriental soul
would have known no peace had he, through petulance, allowed his
temper to cause him to miss the chance to make a profit.
Chapter 5
Kalola awoke to a sense of well being. The raucous chatter
of myna birds had awakened her. From a distance came the sound of
a riveting gun, indicating that another high-rise apartment was
being erected. These were the sounds of Waikiki, and she smiled
with contentment at this proof that she was home.
She considered her situation and decided it could easily be
worse. It was true that, after paying one month's rent in
advance, plus a cleaning deposit and a light and gas deposit, they
were nearly broke. They had a month in which to raise more rent
money, and when the time came that three pretty girls couldn't
make out well enough to eat regularly, then Waikiki would really
have changed.
She thought about her newly acquired friends and decided that
they were plenty maikai ... even if they were white and from the
mainland. In her present, expansive mood, she was quite willing
to forgive Ellen for goofing off with a bunch of surfers and
forgetting her date with Mike Fuda. Still, there was the fact
that something must be done about the state of their finances.
She wrinkled her forehead and concentrated on the problem.
"Hey!" she exclaimed at last, "I betcha I know!" She threw
back the sheet that had covered her, scrambled out of bed, her
naked brown body gleaming in the soft light of morning, and ran to
the other room where Lynn and Ellen slept. She found Lynn nude
and sleeping on top of the bedspread, and she paused a moment to
admire the white beauty of the redhead's seductively formed limbs
and perfectly shaped breasts. "Yep," she said half-aloud, "she's
just the one to pull it off. Lynn! Hey, Lynn, wake up!"
The red-haired girl stirred and opened her eyes.
"I gotta great idea," Kalola said excitedly, sitting on the
edge of the bed. "I just remembered about Tony Nunez. He's a
Portuguese guy who owns a big hotel out Pearl City way. He's got
a big thing for white chicks with red hair. Any redhead can go
ask him for a job and he puts her to work, no matter how dumb she
is. Then, if she won't sleep with him, he fires her and hires
another. They say he's got a Jap wife who gave him five kids and
then crossed her legs when she caught him screwing one of the
hotel maids. Come on, get dressed and we'll go to Pearl City.
When you get him all set up, you bring him here and we take
pictures ... like we were gonna do with Mike and Ellen. How about
it?"
Lynn raised an arm to look at her wrist watch, then turned
sleepy, green eyes on Kalola. "At nine o'clock in the morning?"
"Sure," Kalola agreed heartily. "Like you guys on the
mainland say: 'Early worms are for the birds.' Come on, get up."
Lynn groaned and arose.
It took them two hours to dress, have coffee and ride to
Pearl City on a bus that detoured leisurely down Hotel Street and
the Kalihi District. The "big" hotel referred to by Kalola when
she first mentioned its owner, Anthony Nunez, turned out to be a
rather disreputable, third-rate establishment, but Lynn was not
unduly discouraged. She had already been in Honolulu long enough
to realize that rent being what it was, owning any hotel could be
considered tantamount to owning a gold mine.
They crossed the faded carpet of the lobby to the desk where
a fat Hawaiian woman, dark as any African, regarded their approach
with silent suspicion. She admitted, although reluctantly, that
Mr. Nunez was in his office.
"If you're looking for a job," she told Lynn with open
animosity, "don't worry about it. He'll hire you, all right.
You'll be the third one with red hair he's hired this month. I
hope you remembered to bring your diaphragm."
"How sweet of you to remind me!" Lynn replied. "I suppose
that was what you hotel girls used back in your day. Well, it's
the Pill now, deary. But, of course, you wouldn't know about
that."
Kalola giggled as they turned away from the desk. "Gosh,
Lynn!" she whispered admiringly, "I'm going to learn a lot from
you about being bitchy. This is the office. I'll wait down the
street in the coffee shop. Good luck."
Lynn's knock was answered by a gruff "Come," and she opened
the door to face the biggest, blackest man she had ever seen.
That he was Portuguese she had no doubt. It showed in his
classical features, his curly, black hair, and a certain Latin
air, yet it was equally obvious that several other racial strains,
all of them very dark, mingled liberally with the European blood
line. She introduced herself timidly, overawed by his impressive
bulk.
"I suppose you heard I hire redheads?" It was a question.
Lynn blushed. "Yes."
Nunez chewed thoughtfully on the dead cigar that jutted from
a corner of his mouth. "And you figured you'd get next to me and
then find a way of taking me." It was not a question. "Don't lie
about it. They all got the same idea. You know what happens to
them ... those others who try that?" He laughed. "I give them
jobs, fuck 'em and then fire 'em. If you want to play that game
with me, it's okay. I'd like to fuck you, but don't get the idea
you can make a sucker out of me. I'm too smart for you. Well,
what do you say?"
Lynn didn't know what to say. She reasoned that she ought to
be getting mad at him, but she wasn't. Kalola's scheme would have
to be abandoned, that was certain, but what would she do right
now? And yet she was reluctant to leave. Nunez was standing
beside his desk, and she could not avoid noticing the growing
bulge in the front of his pants. She wondered what it would be
like to have his great bulk on top of her, and the thought brought
an involuntary pelvic reaction that made her hips squirm.
"I won't deny that I had something like that in mind," she
told him, "but I know when I'm beat. I'm broke and I need a job.
I'd like to work for you."
He laughed, the booming sound of it filling the small office.
"By God, you're all right!" he cried. "Okay, you got the job.
You want to start tonight?"
"Oh, is it night work?"
He laughed again. "You better believe it." He handed her a
key. "That's to Number Fourteen," he said, "on the top floor. Be
there tonight at eight. Have your clothes off and your legs
spread. I don't like to waste time. What's the matter? You
think I was hiring you to scrub floors or something?"
"Nooo," Lynn admitted. "It's just that I'm not used to--"
"You'll get used to it," he interrupted. "Come here."
She took the two steps that brought her within his reach.
He didn't take her in his arms. Instead, he slowly and
deliberately reached down for her skirt and drew it up around her
waist, cocking his head on one side to study her exposed, lower
body. "Yeah, that's what I like," he said with evident
satisfaction, "good legs and hips. Turn around." He patted her
on the fanny. "Nice ass, too. If I wasn't busy, I'd take you
upstairs right now. Look here at this. You think you can take
that much meat, huh?"
Lynn turned around to see that he had unzipped his fly and
exposed the longest, blackest, biggest prick she had ever even
heard of. It arched stiffly up, its circumcised head flat and
broad, the shaft seeming to her as big as a beer bottle. She
gasped at sight of it, her sharp intake of breath as much from
surprise and interest as from dismay. She didn't want to touch
it, but she couldn't help herself. Her hand stole timidly to the
massive organ and cradled it gently, the slender, white fingers
contrasting vividly with the velvety black flesh. She felt its
warmth and the pulsing life in it and her crotch ached with sudden
longing.
"I can try. A girl friend of mine is waiting, but she
wouldn't mind an hour or so if you ..."
"Sorry," Tony Nunez said. "Like I told you, I got business
to take care of. You be here tonight. I'm a three-night-a-week
man and I'll pay you a hundred bucks a week. Okay?"
Lynn nodded and reluctantly surrendered her grip on the
ponderous penis. She accepted an advance and went out of the
hotel in a kind of dreamy daze.
"I got the job," she told Kalola, "but we can't expect to do
anything with him for a while. It will take a long time to gain
his confidence ... I think." She had no intention of telling
Kalola the truth, which was that at the moment she could think of
nothing except that massive, masculine body crushing her and that
pachydermous prick plunging into her throbbing cunt. What the
hell! On a hundred a week they could pay the rent and even eat a
little, despite the prices she had seen in the windows of grocery
stores along Kalakalua Avenue.
She took extra care with her bathing and grooming that
evening, although she judged from Nunez' brusque, businesslike
attitude that he would hardly be the type to notice. From her
small wardrobe, she selected a mint-green dress that complemented
her eyes and hair and clung with revealing sheerness to her
figure. She had trouble doing her fingernails. She was trembling
and she realized that it was from eagerness and anxiety.
Lynn was at the hotel at precisely eight. The night-shift
desk clerk was a Hawaiian as fat as the woman who had been there
that morning. He leered at her as she started up the stairs and
called her over to the desk. "You the boss' new redhead, hunh?"
he inquired, licking his thick lips and grinning knowingly. "You
some doll. Maybeso when Tony get tired of you, you come see
Buster," he said. "That's me, Buster Kahane."
Lynn smiled at him. "Maybeso, Buster," she said and went on
up the stairs. She found the room surprisingly neat and well
furnished. Contrary Tony's instructions, she did not undress, but
she did kick off her heels and make herself comfortable on the
bed, arranging the dress as though it had fallen carelessly around
her hips to reveal the length of her bare legs. She wanted her
undraped, lower body to be the first thing he would see when he
came in. She was aware that the nylon crotch of her panties was
soaking wet with the musk-scented body fluids that had been
draining from her all day, for there had been no moment of that
time when she had been free of the mental image of Tony Nunez.
She was so hot that she felt all she would have to do was barely
touch her clitoris with the tip of one finger to make herself go
into a violent orgasm. It was a temptation to do so, and she
wished he would hurry.
The door opened and he entered. He was wearing white
trousers and a blue aloha shirt. For all his weight, he walked as
lightly and gracefully as a dancer across the room, the lust
already lighting his face as he eyed her lovely, open thighs.
"You're some piece of stuff," he declared. "I've had some
good-looking chicks, but damned if I don't think you top them all.
If you can fuck as good as you look, I might keep you around quite
a while." He stripped out of his pants, shirt and shorts, and she
saw that he was not at all as fat as she had imagined. His body
was overlaid with smooth bands of muscle under the satiny sheen of
his nearly black skin. His dangling cock was already half-hard as
he sat beside her on the bed and leaned over her to kiss her on
the mouth.
Lynn had expected brutality, or at least a casual sort of
roughness. She was amazed at the gentle touch of his lips on hers
and the soft, light flow of his hand as it explored the contours
of her thighs. "I'll get undressed for you," she whispered, her
voice strained from growing passion.
"No hurry," he murmured. "I'll get your clothes off a little
at a time. More fun that way." He disrobed her as he petted her,
making a slow ceremony of removing each garment, and he studied
the revealed flesh as though each part of her was a new miracle
more wondrous to behold than what had been bared before. He toyed
with each of her breasts, his fingers teasing the nipples into
erection, before he bent his head to honor them with his wet,
sucking kisses. When she was at last nude, her clothes a heap on
the floor, he made a production out of covering her entire body,
from forehead to toes, with tender, provocative kisses, neglecting
neither the bubbling well that was her pussy nor the quivering,
brown mouth of her anus. While he thus paid tribute to her
beauty, her hands were eagerly stroking his cock and carefully
fondling his scrotum.
"Oh, my God!" she cried, her voice nearly a thin scream of
agony. "Fuck me now, Tony, honey! I can't stand more of this."
"Patience," he cautioned her. "Make it last. It's better
that way." He continued to pet her and kiss her. Then, when he
was ready, he warned her that he was big for her and that it might
hurt.
"I don't give a damn!" she sobbed. "Just do it."
"Okay." He mounted her and began working his cock into her
as carefully as possible. He had been right. It did hurt. From
the moment the head of it entered her, the pain began and it grew
steadily worse. It felt to Lynn as though someone was driving an
iron post into her crotch, splitting her body inch by inch.
Strangely, however, the pain did not diminish her passion.
"You going to be able to take it?" he grunted.
"Yes! Yes! Give me all of it, Tony. I want it all, I don't
care if it kills me!"
He shoved it home, and the pain immediately subsided. There
was left only the marvelous sensation of being filled, of being
complete. When he began gently to rotate it and work it in and
out, she felt every part of its surface in contact with the walls
of her vagina. She clenched her legs around his huge thighs and
surged upward with her hips, wanting even more. She impulsively
set her mouth on his and ran her tongue between his lips.
The erotic kiss seemed to inspire him. He increased the
tempo of his plunging prick and Lynn began to come. She sensed
that she was approaching a climax of far greater power than any
she had yet experienced, and the impending force of it frightened
her, as though she expected her body to be consumed in the blazing
inferno of her own lust, or her mind to snap from the tension of
her tortured nerves. Yet it was irresistible, surging up from her
loins like a great wave intent on sweeping all before it. She
surrendered to the will-crushing might of the sensation and let
her sanity and her humanity fall away like a burden too heavy to
carry. She became all animal, a thing of primitive and
unrestrained lusts. She was a body, tortured beyond all endurance
and responding with naked savagery. She was a rasped nerve that
cried for relief, a writhing, twisting, inhuman thing that was all
feeling. In the throes of her madness, she bit and scratched the
smooth, dark skin of her lover. She screamed like a wounded
tigress when her orgasm finally came.
Before it was over, she felt the hot blast of his sperm
deluging her inner body. The combined efforts of their
frantically and spasmodically jerking muscles flung them around on
the bed as though they were having a mutual convulsion.
Tony continued to fuck his own jism back into her until their
frenzy of lust began to fade. His motions slowed until he lay
quiet but for an occasional twitch of his buttocks.
After several minutes had passed, he raised his head to gaze
down at her with dark, sleepy eyes still filmed with the shadow of
his dying lust. "You did it," he murmured. "You sure as hell did
it! Now you know why I never kept any of the others around very
long--they couldn't take it. You're the first woman I ever got it
all into, and the first one who ever gave me a decent hump. I'd
marry you, if I could get rid of my wife. She won't divorce me,
and if I boot her ass out, some of her relatives would get me for
sure. I'm a strong man, maybe one of the strongest in the world,
but I'm not bulletproof. She's got a brother who is a bagman for
the Syndicate here, so you can figure how long I'd last."
"Don't take any chances like that," Lynn whispered. "I don't
want to lose you. We'll just be lovers. Maybe someday something
may happen to her."
"All right," he agreed. "I'm sorry I treated you so rough in
the office this morning. I love you, Lynn."
She kissed him warmly. "I love you, too. You weren't really
rough. You're the gentlest man I've ever known. After we've
rested awhile, will you make love to me again? Can we stay here
all night?"
"No. I'm sorry. If I'm not home by midnight, the little
bitch raises hell and threatens to turn her brothers loose on me.
You can sleep here if you want. I don't think I should screw you
again, honey. Your pussy needs a rest after having me in it. But
I want to suck you off. Do you like having your cunt licked?"
"I'd love it!" Lynn replied with enthusiasm. "I'll suck you,
too--if I can open my mouth wide enough to take it. I wanted so
much to suck it this morning when I had my hands on it. I'd have
done it right then, gone down on my knees and sucked it, if you'd
let me."
He shook his head. "I'm stupid. I wasn't that busy."
They lay side by side, kissing and caressing each other with
hands and lips that grew steadily more avid. Lynn returned the
compliment he had paid her earlier by making the grand tour of his
body with her mouth and tongue, just as he had done to her. When
she came again to his crotch, she gave herself the pleasure of
kissing and licking at his asshole, his balls and the shaft of his
cock. It was now erect and throbbing to the tune of his
increasing fervor, a dribble of whitish fluid oozing from the
slit. She licked it clean, then opened her mouth to its widest.
She found that the head and only an inch of the shaft was all she
could accommodate without choking. She licked and sucked greedily
while her fingers played with the rubbery flesh and hair of his
asshole. He pulled her hips closer to his face and, parting her
thighs, thrust his tongue into the opening of her vagina. His
tongue was large, long and very strong. It was almost like being
fucked, she thought happily, but she was not disappointed when he
shifted his attention to the small lump of her clitoris, agitating
the sensitive gland expertly. She knew she was discharging
heavily again, for the room was redolent with the fragrance of her
musk, and she heard him gulp repeatedly as he swallowed mouthfuls
of her body fluids.
She marveled at herself. Until her brother-in-law had taught
her this, she had never thought she would want to become a
cocksucker. Now she knew she was hooked, completely addicted to
the erotic art. She loved Tony and would marry him if ever he
gained his freedom from his Japanese wife. But she doubted if she
would be true to him when there were so many cocks to be sucked in
the world. She had loved her husband, too, but had not been able
to resist the temptation to play with another man's cock at a
dance. When she thought of all the fun she could have had in high
school, she wished she had learned the trick earlier in life.
Tony's clever tongue was driving her closer and closer to the
point of orgasm, so she redoubled her efforts. She was rewarded
by feeling his muscles tighten and his bodily tension increase.
Just as the first throb shook his prick, her own climax came
about; then she was coming wildly as she jerked her hips in short,
frenzied strokes to rub her cunt over her lover's face, yet not
quite losing the contact of his tongue on her clitoris.
His hips shuddered convulsively as his pulsing prick began to
shoot gobs of cum into her mouth and down her throat. She sucked
and swallowed with all her might, loving the taste of him and as
fiercely joyful that she had made him come as at the wonderful
sensations that emanated from her clitoris.
Their mutual orgasm was somewhat more restrained than it had
been the first time but, in compensation, was even richer in
feeling and more prolonged. When it was over, they were finally
and completely exhausted.
Tony left just before midnight, but Lynn was so sleepy she
was hardly aware when he went. She had been sleeping soundly for
several hours when she awoke because someone was sitting beside
her on the bed and had the sheet pulled down. A soft hand was
fondling her breast.
"Don't get scared. It only me, Buster Kahane," a voice
whispered. "I got hot nuts fo' you, baby, but I think mo' bettah
I wait 'til boss gone home long time. You give me fuck now,
hunh?"
Lynn opened her eyes to see the fat desk clerk looming over
her, his hands busy with her body. "Sorry, Buster," she said,
"but you'd have a hell of a hard act to follow. What do you think
you could do for a girl who'd just been made love to by a man like
Tony Nunez?"
Buster sighed. "Yeh, all wahine say same thing. I no
bigshot lover like the boss, but I got damn good prick. Whassa
matta nobody want my prick, hunh?" He had pulled the sheet
farther down and now had two fingers in her pussy. With his free
hand he unbuckled his trousers and let his cock stand up. "Whassa
matta my prick?" he repeated plaintively.
Lynn eyed the fat, smooth organ in the dim light and felt the
saliva begin to run in her mouth. She licked her lips.
"Not a damn thing wrong with it, Buster," she said. "You
just slide over this way so I can get it in my mouth ... and don't
stop finger-fucking me. I love it."
Chapter 6
Lynn was not sure how to explain her new affluence to her
friends. She was ashamed to admit that she had fallen in love
with her boss and had no intention of trying to carry out the
original plan of blackmail. After making love to her, Tony had
generously doubled her salary and delighted in buying expensive
presents for her. She considered telling them that she was
obtaining the money by rolling drunks at the hotel, but doubted
that they would believe her.
It was Ellen who solved her problem for her and made it easy
for her to confess that she was a backslider from the solemn
covenant they had made to hate all men and take them for all they
could get. She came into the house one day, the pockets of her
slacks bulging, and casually began digging out bills and dumping
them on the living room table.
"Auwe!" Kalola gasped. "You rob a bank?"
Ellen shook her head. "Un-unh. Those surfers I've been
getting gang-banged by got their monthly checks from their
parents, and I sold 'em most of the pot and other stuff I've been
holding. I got over five hundred here, and a new surfboard. Now
we don't have to worry about paying the rent."
"Ellen," Kalola said, "you make me ashamed for all the bad
things I hollered at you the night you stood up Mike Fuda."
"Me, too," Lynn echoed.
Ellen shrugged. "That's okay. I didn't really want to be a
blackmailer anyway. I'd rather just fuck and have lots of boy
friends, and maybe sell some ass once in a while when some square
slob like a tourist wants it. I'm not so mad at guys as you
chicks are."
Lynn gulped hard and took the plunge. "I haven't been
exactly honest with either of you," she admitted. "About Tony ...
well, I wouldn't want to do anything to hurt him. He's a great
guy and I'm ... well ... I guess I'm pretty fond of him. But he's
been giving me money and I've been holding out because I didn't
want to tell you where I got it. Here." She opened her purse and
contributed a stack of bills to the pile on the table. "I guess
that about puts us out of the blackmailing business, doesn't it?"
"Not quite," Kalola said firmly. "I haven't got any money to
put on the table, and I want to do my share. I haven't been lucky
like you and Ellen, but I've got a naval officer, a commander, all
lined up. I was going to meet him tonight and maybe bring him
tomorrow evening. If I do, will one of you help me set it up to
frame him ... like we had planned?"
"I will," Lynn volunteered. "I can't see Tony tomorrow
night, anyway. I did have a date with Buster Kahane, but I can
call him and break it. Do you think you can take this commander
for much?"
Kalola nodded. "Maybeso plenty. His wife is coming out here
in a week. I betcha she'd like to see some pictures of her man
with a goddamned naked little native, hunh? If I get enough from
him, I'll buy back my contract and then I can go to work again.
Nothing is as no good as an unemployed hula dancer."
"I don't see why you don't forget all that hard work and just
be a whore," Ellen said. "It's easier and a lot more fun."
"If I can't get out of my contract, I will," Kalola agreed.
"Lynn seems to like it."
Lynn looked startled. "Hey!" she exclaimed, "that's right,
isn't it? I hadn't thought of what I was doing as prostitution,
but it sure is, now that you mention it. Well, what do you know?
I've gone and promoted myself. Both for fun and profit, it beats
teaching school."
* * *
The girls spent the rest of the day on the beach, swimming,
sunbathing and watching Ellen struggle valiantly with the art of
surfboarding. Kalola went to keep her date with the naval officer
that evening and woke them up at one in the morning to report that
all had gone well. After letting him kiss her and feel her legs,
he had wanted to take her to a hotel room, but she had declined,
saying she was too shy to do it anywhere but in her own house and
promising that she would give in to him if he would meet her at
the Outrigger Bar and bring her here.
Lynn spent the day setting her camera up so that she could
shoot through an inconspicuous hole she made in one of the bedroom
walls and hid with a trailing vine that grew from a planter.
Kalola went to keep her date and Lynn settled down to wait.
Ellen was, as usual, in the cove with a bunch of surfers.
The appointed hour came and went and Lynn, hiding with her
camera in the other bedroom, grew restless. She poured herself a
drink and, as another hour passed, absently poured and drank three
more. She was feeling very little pain when she heard a commotion
in the living room and jerked erect with the guilty knowledge that
she had dozed off. There were voices and, unless Kalola's
commander was a ventriloquist, he had to be a least triplets.
Getting unsteadily to her feet, Lynn opened the door a crack to
peek out and behold Kalola in the midst of not one naval officer
but three enlisted men. She was lying on the couch with her head
pillowed on the lap of one and her legs across the lap of another.
Her skirt was above her hips and her panties were on the floor.
The third man was mixing drinks.
Lynn came out into the room and Kalola, seeing her, waved
gaily from her supine position. "Hi, Lynn," she called, "have a
drink and meet Jack, Bill and Ted."
"Wow!" the one named Bill cried, "dig the gorgeous, red-
headed stuff!" He was the one who had been appointed bartender.
"What happened to the commander?" Lynn asked Kalola.
"He stood me up," Kalola replied. "The sonomobeech! Maybe
his wife came from the mainland early. Anyway, who cares? I
picked these guys up at the Outrigger Bar."
"But I thought you hated men," Lynn insisted with drunken
persistence.
Kalola grinned. "I do ... except sailors. It's the
uniforms. You ever notice how a sailor's uniform smells different
than other clothes? It's so groovy I can't resist it."
Lynn shook her head. "No," she admitted, "I never got that
close to one."
"Well, now's your chance, Red," Bill offered gallantly. "You
can smell me any time. I'll bet you smell pretty good yourself."
"Watch that guy Bill," Jack warned, wiggling an experimental
finger into Kalola's pussy. "We hear he eats at the 'Y'."
Lynn looked puzzled, and all three sailors laughed
uproariously. "He means at the crotch," Ted explained, " 'Y' ...
crotch ... get it?"
"Oh." Lynn brightened. "Sure, I get it. I get it every
time I have a date with my boy friend. You hungry now, Bill?"
The young sailor blushed. "I never did it in public before."
"Chicken!" the other two shouted, and his blush deepened.
"Let's see how good you are," Lynn said, dropping into a
chair, lifting her dress and pulling her panties off. "Come on,
Billy Boy. Dinner is served."
He hesitated only another moment, then the sight of Lynn's
beautiful legs and thighs was too much for him. He dropped to his
knees in front of her and began kissing the soft, perfumed flesh.
By the time he had reached her pussy it was moist and bubbling
with passion. She locked her hands in his hair, pulling his face
hard against her steaming crotch.
"I've never had the nerve to try that," Jack said, licking
his lips and watching with envy.
"Aw, come on," Kalola encouraged him. "It don't bite."
He looked at her smooth, brown limbs and gaping, pink vulva
surrounded by a halo of black hair, then impulsively bent his head
and timidly touched her raw cunt flesh with the tip of his tongue.
He became motionless with surprise. Then, with a groan of long
suppressed desire, he began sucking and licking her greedily, if
somewhat inexpertly.
Kalola turned her head on Ted's lap, unbuttoned him and took
his cock out. "I get hungry, too," she laughed. "Fuck me in the
mouth, honey."
They were in those positions when Ellen came in with two of
her surfer friends. "Looks like quite a party," she declared.
"Let's get in on the fun. Hey, what a bummer! The booze is
almost all gone. Here, Danny, take some money and go to the
liquor store for more." She went to the drawer where the three
girls had hidden the loot that she and Lynn had accumulated and
handed the young man two twenties. "Better get some grub, too."
Then she removed her clothes and got down on the floor on her
hands and knees so that the other one could kneel behind her and
fuck her dog fashion.
Danny returned after a while with the liquor, some food and a
dozen friends of both sexes he had found sitting on the sea wall
along Kalakalua Avenue with nothing to do.
Kalola, who was temporarily disengaged from the sailors at
the moment, was delighted. That the impromptu affair had grown to
a full-fledged party tickled her happy Hawaiian heart.
"Why don't we have a luau?" she cried and was cheered by the
enthusiastic response she received. Obviously the house was not
big enough to accommodate a luau, so they took over the courtyard,
around the perimeter of which were the shacks that made up the
Pacific Paradise hotel. "We don't have time to dig an imu and
roast a pig," she said, "but we can always get one catered from
one of the big hotels." More people were dispatched with more
money and instructions to bring back all of the ingredients for a
first-class native feast. They were lucky. One of the hotels had
held a luau earlier that evening and it had not been well
attended. The chef was most happy to dispose of the leftovers,
including most of a roast pig, pineapple, poi, limu, opihis, roast
kukui nuts, sweet potatoes and mullet all wrapped and still
steaming in the green leaves of the ti plant. Liquor had been
purchased in copious quantities. Willing hands quickly set up the
feast, and the happy crowd of revelers were joined by all of the
inhabitants of the Pacific Paradise Hotel.
There was food, booze and babes and the word spread through
the streets of that back-alley district of Waikiki known as "The
jungle." Guests began to arrive in a steady stream. They were
clad in shorts, bikinis, muumuus, beach robes and even nightgowns.
They brought ukeleles, guitars and bongo drums.
It was not a quiet party. Had Joe Moto been home, it would
never have gotten started. Joe, however, chanced spending the
evening with some Japanese friends. He had drunk much sake with
them and had won quite a bit of money at the gambling game known
as "Hana Fudd." So, as he turned from Lewer's Street onto Kuhio
Avenue, he was in a mellow and even somewhat expansive mood.
"Someone having helluva party," he muttered as the sounds of
wassail reached him. "Crazy Hawaiians always having a party. Oh,
well, what the hell? Why not have good time?"
Accordingly, he was somewhat less shocked than he might
otherwise have been when he reached his own property and saw that
he had become the unwitting host to the celebrants in question.
Still, his Oriental sense of dignity and propriety was offended
and he ran among the crowd, waving his arms and demanding to know
what was going on here. He received no coherent answer. A
blonde, bikini-clad girl he recognized as Ellen Canfield thrust a
glass into one of his hands and a piece of greasy pork into the
other. She bid him a warm welcome to the party, kissed him on the
mouth and squeezed his cock through the front of his pants, then
disappeared in the crowd. Before he could sputter a protest to
this assault, two other girls, giggling at his apparent
bewilderment and discomfiture, drew him down to sit beside them.
They urged him to drink up, refilled his glass and made him sit
while one of them thrust her hand in through his fly and began
playing with his prick and the other took his arm, put it around
her and snugged his hand up against her bare breast.
Joe Moto tried to control his spinning senses as he attempted
to remember a certain saying he had once heard, and which seemed
to apply to this situation. It seemed very important to recall it
exactly and word for word. Ah, so! Now he had it. It was: "If
you can't strike 'em, screw 'em." No, that wasn't right. Maybe
it was: "If you can't beat 'em, bugger 'em." No, that wasn't it,
either. "Oh, fuck it!" he said aloud.
"Sure," the girl holding his prick agreed eagerly. "What fo'
you think I got my dress up to my ass fo', hunh?"
Two blocks away, the manager of an apartment house that
catered only to wealthy tourists, was annoyed by the noise that
came from the Pacific Paradise Hotel. He called the police. By
sheer good luck the officers dispatched to quell the riot happened
to be men of mostly Hawaiian blood. They surveyed the wild but
happy scene, reported back by radio that the complaint had been
grossly exaggerated, then joined the party.
The feast was over, but the fun was just starting. The
center of attraction was Kalola. Bare-footed, bare-assed and
bare-breasted but for a lei of white plumeria flowers, she danced
for the crowd to the accompaniment of ukuleles, guitars, bongo
drums and shouts of drunken encouragement. She danced as she had
never danced for the tourists or in any night club, for she was
doing the old dances, the genuine, native dances of Hawaii. Her
swiftly and gracefully flowing hands were telling a story that
would have shocked beyond repair the missionaries who had so
smugly supposed that they had succeeded in converting and taming
the natives of Hawaii. Even a tourist could hardly have failed to
interpret her gestures as she outlined her bouncing breasts, drew
a hand up over her pussy and, making a circle with thumb and
forefinger, ran the index finger of her other hand back and forth
through it in graphic description of the act of intercourse.
When she sank to the ground, her dance ended and her brown
body gleaming with sweat, a man grabbed her, flung himself onto
her and stabbed his cock into her up to the hair.
That was the signal for the orgy. In a matter of moments,
the courtyard was littered with a heaving, bobbing tangle of arms,
legs and buttocks. The soft, tropical night was rent by screams
and moans of delight, and the great, golden globe of the moon rose
over the edge of the sea to bathe the scene in its ancient, mystic
light.
Ellen was no longer homesick for the dirty pad in San
Francisco. She was being passed from man to man at such a
dizzying rate that there was hardly an instant when her cunt, her
ass or her mouth were not full of cock. Semen ran down her legs
and her chin to gleam on her nude body, and she was completely and
wholly happy for the first time in her life.
Lynn was enjoying her favorite diversion in a fashion that
satisfied her thoroughly. She had cornered six men and had them
lined up on the ground. On hands and knees she went from one to
the other, sucking cocks like an industrious bee sipping the honey
from flower after flower.
Kalola, like Ellen, was being shared by everyone, including a
group of four soldiers who had arrived too late for the feast but
not for the festivities.
A young married couple from Iowa, out for an evening stroll,
chanced to pass the Pacific Paradise Hotel and, attracted by the
sounds of merriment, wandered in to see what was going on. They
soon found out. Two muscular, half-naked natives whisked her away
from her bridegroom, had her under a hibiscus shrub, had her
clothes off and were taking turns with her before she could even
set herself to scream. When she did get around to it, she was
able only to mutter a muffled moan behind the sweaty hand that
held her mouth while her white body squirmed in the moonlight and
a long, smooth, brown cock was inserted into her cunt. It took
her a while to realize that there was no escape and was going to
be no rescue. It took her the same length of time to realize that
what was being done to her felt very good indeed. When the first
man was through and got up from her, the second one found it
unnecessary to hold her by force. She smiled up at him and helped
guide his prick into her throbbing slit.
Her husband, seeing his bride torn from his grasp, would have
plunged after her, had not a foot entwined with his, tripping him
and hurling him to the ground. Before he could regain his feet,
he was attacked by a slender, nude body with flower-accented, tan
flesh; a piquant face with slanted eyes and ruby lips was poised
over his. He opened his mouth to protest and a tongue was thrust
between his lips while eager fingers unbuckled his belt and
unzipped his fly. He was a modest young man and would not have
dreamed of standing up with his cock hanging out, so there was
nothing for him to do but remain there while a hot, moist vagina
closed over his organ. He sighed then and relaxed. He remembered
that the travel folder back in Sioux City had, after all,
promised: "Exotic adventures will surely be yours in these
romantic islands of the Pacific."
"I'll say one thing for you people out here," he told the
girl who, astride him, was pumping vigorously up and down on his
prick, "when you arrange a tour and make promises, you sure do
keep them right to the letter. Wait until I tell the fellows back
in--"
"No talk," the girl on him hissed. "Just fucky-fucky."
* * *
Dawn's hot, gilding light replaced the cool radiance of the
moon. Even the Myna birds, which normally held court on the lawn
and vocalized the daybreak with their shrill cries, were silent,
stunned by the scene of utter devastation. The Dante-like debacle
that spread before their beady eyes was the result of the
damnedest luau Waikiki had seen since the days of King Kamekameha.
There were remnants of food, empty bottles and numerous items of
clothing scattered about all over the grass. There were also a
few discarded bodies ... discarded by all but their owners, that
is. Under the shrubs that bordered the fence, face up in the
flowers by the walk, draped over porch steps and rails, even lying
grotesquely nude in the dry, concrete basin that had once been a
fish pond, brown, white and yellow bodies of various sizes and
descriptions festooned the courtyard. Mostly they were still and
quiet, although now and then a fitful twitch of arms and legs, or
a low, despairing moan gave evidence that life still lingered.
Over the entire scene, almost as tangible as a miasmic mist
rising from a swamp, hung the rich aroma of that musk that
emanates from the female body when in heat, and the ranker, richer
scent of drying semen.
Within Number Four, the three girls slept peacefully and
sweetly, Kalola on the living room floor with three sailors and
two soldiers, Lynn on one of the beds with five native men and
Ellen in the other bedroom with eight young surfers.
By noon, most of the revelers who had been left behind when
the party broke up, had aroused from their slumbers and, grinning
widely to themselves when they remembered what a hell of a party
it had been, had trudged home or to the beach. The sailors,
soldiers and surfers had awakened, been reminded of other duties
and appointments, and had gone their ways, although some had
lingered for one last bit of intercourse, sodomy or oral-genital
love depending on each one's personal preference with the girls.
The girls, thus pleasantly aroused, took one look out of the
front door, shuddered and returned to the living room.
"Has anyone looked in the cash drawer yet?" Lynn asked.
"I'm afraid to," Ellen answered in a low, guilt-ridden tone.
"I seem to remember giving money to lots of people to go to town
for booze and food."
"I looked," Kalola said. "We're broke again."
No comments were made regarding this announcement, but the
three avoided each other's eyes in mutual guilt.
Ellen, still not saying anything, got up and went out.
"Oh, come on, Kalola," Lynn suggested at last, "let's take a
shower. We'll feel better. Don't worry about it. I've got a
date with Tony, and I'll bring home some money tonight."
They showered, put on fresh clothes and found enough
leftovers in the refrigerator to make a meal. They had finished
it and were again in the living room, discussing the party in low,
awed voices, wondering whether their landlord would throw them out
as a result and, if he did, who would accept them with no money,
when Ellen returned.
"We don't have to worry about the rent," she said. "I just
screwed Joe Moto out of it for another month. You won't believe
this, but that little bummer of a Jap is a hell of a good fuck.
And he isn't mad at us at all. He says we threw a party that will
be talked about for years, and that the publicity will keep the
old Pacific Paradise Hotel going for at least another season or
two. Maybe we should be in the public relations business."
Chapter 7
Among those who had attended the party was one who had
appreciated it more than most, even though the reason for his
appreciation was somewhat less than esthetic. Hoku Hamonu, known
among his friends as "Wikiwiki", was a beach boy. He was from
Hana, on the windward side of the island of Maui, and was one of
the very few natives of nearly pure Hawaiian blood left in the
islands. His grandmother had claimed, with great pride, to have
been raped and impregnated by none other than Bully Hayes himself,
last of the freebooters who had once roamed the South Pacific.
The story may even have been true, for there was a touch of the
pirate in the make-up of Wikiwiki.
Not that it was readily apparent. His protective coloration
was perfect. He wore his wavy, black hair short, scorning the
girlish hair styles of the mainland youth so widely copied by most
of the beach boys at Waikiki, and all of the well-muscled, cookie-
with-cream complexioned, two hundred pounds of his lazy, six-foot
frame exuded a kind of smoldering and indolent masculine
sexuality. He was so good-looking he would have been considered a
"pretty boy" had he been less obviously and blatantly male.
Superficially at least, he appeared to be a guileless, happy-go-
lucky, good-natured but shiftless slob who happened to be very
good at his chosen career of guide, swimming and surfing
instructor, and male prostitute. As a matter of fact, Wikiwiki
was possessed of a mind that was one-third steel trap and two-
thirds calculating machine. As he lolled on the beach, hands
clasped behind his fine head, his innocent brown eyes fixed on the
distant, heat-shimmering horizon, his mind was busily at work on
the problem of the three girls who lived in Number Four at the
Pacific Paradise Hotel.
Being a man who recognized talent when he saw it, he
considered the girls only a problem to the extent that they had a
certain genius that was going woefully and shamefully to waste, a
genius he felt would be better and more profitably put to work
enhancing the life and filling the wallet of Hoku Hamonu, known as
Wikiwiki.
At the party the night before, he had consumed less liquor
than most, although he had taken an active part in the ensuing fun
and games. From the vantage point of relative sobriety, he had
deduced that the girls in question were not rich, although they
had spent money like drunken sailors. Handling money wisely was
not, he decided, one of their many virtues. No matter. People
who could throw such an amazingly and spectacularly successful
party (impromptu at that) had no need of other talents. What
those girls needed, he saw, was the fatherly guidance of a man.
Besides, he also perceived that in gathering them to his
protective and manly bosom he would be acquiring a ready-made
harem, and he was thoroughly fed up with making love to the fat,
middle-aged tourist ladies who were his usual victims.
His decision made, Wikiwiki arose from his reclining position
on the sand and sauntered slowly but purposefully in the direction
of the Pacific Paradise Hotel. He didn't bother to knock but
mounted the rotting steps to the porch and lounged in the open
doorway. He arrived just as Ellen finished announcing her
seduction of Joe Moto.
"Hi," Wikiwiki said.
Three pairs of eyes, brown, blue and green, opened wide at
the sight of his handsome face, broad shoulders and massive
muscles.
"Hi, yourself, gorgeous," Lynn replied. "The party is over
but you're welcome."
"Take your trunks off and come in," Kalola invited.
"Hold on, you two," Ellen objected. "I saw him first."
"Ladies!" Wikiwiki exclaimed, holding up a hand as if to fend
off imminent attack. "Let us remember our manners. I'll be most
happy to service you one at a time, but no unseemly conduct,
please." He had decided that the colorful pidgin that was part of
his act when dealing with rich tourists would be wasted on these
babes, so he spoke, instead, in the English he had learned while a
student at U.C.L.A.
"I have a proposition for you. No, no! Not that kind! Oh
well, all right ... pleasure before business, if you insist.
Then, when I have satisfied your animal appetites, I will tell you
how you are going to make us all rich."
"Oh, we'll love being rich," Lynn agreed. "But, for right
now, why don't you remove your trunks? We want you to be
comfortable."
"Let me help you," Kalola suggested eagerly.
"Me, too," Ellen offered, showing more enthusiasm than was
customary with her.
Wikiwiki sighed and allowed the girls to roll his swim trunks
down over his hips. He gazed upon them with fond indulgence as
they went into raptures of delight over his long, brown cock with
its bulbous, businesslike head.
"Did you ever see such a set of nuts?" Lynn demanded, cupping
his scrotum in her hand and hefting the Brobdingnagian balls.
"If you ladies don't mind," he said, gently disengaging six
avid hands from his genitals, "I'll first administer to the little
blonde."
Ellen's blue eyes sparkled as she jerked her muumuu off over
her head. She seemed undaunted by Kalola's catty suggestion that
it was obvious Wikiwiki wanted to save the best for the last.
"Come now, little one," Wikiwiki said when Ellen stood naked
before him. "Join me in this comfortable chair." He sat down,
drew her to him and, lifting her easily by her hips, set her on
his lap so that she was facing him, her cunt, so recently used by
Joe Moto, poised over the head of the now stiff prick that had
swollen and hardened to twice its former girth and length. He
continued to hold her out to the full extent of his arms, as a man
might do it examining a painting he considered purchasing.
"You're a beautifully constructed bit of ass," he commented.
"I hope all of the men who have had you have appreciated the fine
points of your body: the delicate shape of your tits, the cute,
little curve of your tummy, your really magnificent thighs, and
this delicious, pink snatch that is now kissing the head of my
cock. Shall we let them get better acquainted?" He lowered her
so that only the head disappeared into her body.
"For chrissake, quit teasing," Ellen said to him. "I want
that big thing stuck up in me so far it comes out between my
tonsils."
"Tsk, tsk," he clucked at her, shaking his head. "I see you
have a lot to learn about the fine art of fornication. Slow and
easy is better. I raped a blonde chick at your party last night.
All her husband had ever done was to hump hell out of her as fast
as possible. But even rape must be done gently and lingeringly.
Before she left she looked me up and asked me for another date.
Now, because you've been a good girl and have listened without
interrupting, I will let you have another inch. Isn't that nice?"
Kalola and Lynn, breathless with suspense, were watching
intently.
"Oh, my God!" Ellen groaned, "what the hell are you doing to
me? I never felt like this before in my life. It's barely in but
it feels like it's dancing inside me."
"Only throbbing," Wikiwiki explained. "It is excited and
hungry for you, too. I have tried to teach it patience, but it is
slow to learn."
He took thirty minutes to lower Ellen all of the way so that
she was finally sitting on his thighs, his cock in her up to his
balls. By that time, she was a nervous wreck, a mass of insanely
tingling nerves, and his body no sooner came in contact with her
clitoris than she exploded into a violent orgasm. Smiling smugly,
he continued to hold her while she climaxed, then began lifting
and lowering her with his powerful arms and hands, occasionally
bending her toward him so as to kiss her writhing mouth or nibble
at her bouncing breasts. When he finally grew tired of this, he
held her snugly against him and rotated his strong hips to drive
his cock in and out of her in a slow, perfectly timed rhythm. The
watching girls, hearing the familiar, wet, slushy sound of semen,
knew that he had at last deigned to complete the act and to honor
their hippie friend by filling her cunt with cum. He released
her, and she slid from his lap to the floor where she lay on her
back, her eyes closed and moaning softly.
Wikiwiki smiled at Lynn and Kalola. "Who's next?"
"But you just did it!" Kalola protested. "How can you ..."
"I see it's still hard," Lynn pointed out. "Amazing!"
"Oh, I'm always good for three or more on one erection,"
Wikiwiki explained carefully. "How about you, Red?"
"I'd like to suck you," she told him. "It's the most
beautiful cock I've ever seen, and putting a lovely thing like
that in my pussy seems a sacrilege. May I?"
"Be my guest," he replied graciously, "but let's not hurry.
I would first like to see you undressed and do a little petting
with you. I suspect your figure is even superior to that of the
blonde ... riper and more lush."
Kalola looked disappointed, but she didn't say anything as
Lynn took her clothes off and sat on Wikiwiki's lap, his cock
between her legs. They kissed and ran their hands over each
other. He murmured extravagant compliments but, although Lynn had
figured by this time that he was full of bull, she also knew that
he meant the things he said to her, at least in part. As any
woman would have done, she enjoyed hearing her breasts, her face
and her legs described in glowing terms, and she liked it even
better when he kissed each place as he spoke of it.
"I have a cute asshole, too," she said, laughing at him.
"Let's see," he said, turning her over and spreading the
cheeks of her buttocks. "You sure do," he agreed. "You didn't
think I'd kiss it, did you?" It was his turn to laugh as he
ducked down and kissed her very thoroughly, then let his tongue
curl up and around until it was licking at her vulva and he was
sucking up the musky juices that seeped from her passion-throbbing
cunt. Just when his tongue had found her clitoris and had given
it a friendly lap or two, and she had begun to believe that he
intended to make her come, he pulled his head from between her
thighs and, changing his position, presented the head of his prick
to her mouth. Eagerly her red lips closed over it.
"Easy," he cautioned her. "Make it last."
She tried, but she was so anxious he had to push her away
from it from time to time to delay the final climax. His reason
for doing this was not entirely selfish. He knew she was boiling
with passion, not only as a result of his caresses but from the
vicarious thrill she had received by watching him make love to
Ellen.
"Rub your thighs together and hunch yourself like you were
being fucked," he instructed her. She blindly obeyed and found
that the action caused the mucus-slick lips of her vulva to
agitate her clitoris. Before another minute had passed, she was
having an orgasm of unprecedented strength. It came just as his
prick began to jerk in her mouth, spurting loads of semen into her
throat.
"How about my turn?" Kalola asked as Lynn rolled away, so
drained by the discharge of physical and emotional tension that
she was nearly unconscious. The little dancer had stripped out of
her clothes and now she rubbed herself against him, purring and
squirming like a cat in beat.
"Sure," Wikiwiki agreed, grinning happily. "I wanted to fuck
you last night, but there were too many guys in line ahead of me.
As they used to say at U.C.L.A.: 'You're built like a brick
shithouse.' Back in the old days, I'll bet you would have been
the number one girl at the court of Kamekameha. The old boy would
have fucked you every night and twice on Sundays."
"Do you think the old days would have been better?" she asked
him. She was rubbing her nipples across his face and she had his
prick between her legs, massaging it lovingly.
"No," he replied, digging his fingers into the resilient,
brown flesh of her ass. "I think it's more fun now. In those
days, I'd have spent most of my time out on the reef, fishing.
Now all I have to do is lay around the beach, screw white women
and take their money. You're very athletic and supple. Can you
stand up and touch your toes?"
"Sure I can," Kalola said. "Watch this." She stood up and
reached down to put both hands flat on the floor.
"That's fine," Wikiwiki applauded. "Just hold that pose." He
stepped behind her, placed a hand on either side of her hips and
began pushing his cock into her.
"Hey!" Kalola said, "you got it in my asshole."
"I know," he replied evenly. "After all the screwing you did
last night, I thought your cunt might be tired. Don't you like it
this way?"
"Yeh, but it's the biggest one I ever had in my brownie.
Gosh, I can feel it getting even bigger! You gonna come so soon
... right after already doing it twice with Ellen and Lynn?"
"Yes. Doing it excites me ... makes it harder for me to hold
back." With one more lunge he began to squirt into her, and she
could feel the hot stuff against the sensitive wall of her anus.
Excess semen ran down the back of her legs. She straightened when
he withdrew. To her surprise, he caught her small body in his
arms, flipped her end over and stood her on her head, then stopped
to push his face between her thighs and, holding her erect but
upside down, he began to vigorously suck her clitoris. When she
came, she felt like a fountain or a geyser that shoots straight up
into the air. It was a strange but wonderful sensation and she
was delighted that he continued, making her come over and over
again until she was weak from the tension and dizzy from her
inverted position. When he finally lowered her gently to the
floor, she passed out, her supine body appearing as limp and
lifeless as that of a doll as she lay across the equally inert
forms of the other girls.
"Now how can I talk business with them when they're crapped
out like that?" Wikiwiki complained, shaking his head. Then he
remembered that he had a date with the young tourist girl he had
raped the night before. "Oh, well," he said aloud, "I can always
see them later. I think I'll only ask the tourist girl for fifty
dollars. I'm worth more, of course, but I don't want to scare her
away. She's very beautiful, and playing around with these girls
has gotten me turned on." He put his swim trunks back on and
returned to his own shack where he donned white trousers and a
blue aloha shirt. On the way out of the yard he picked a flower
from the plumeria tree and tucked the stem into his thick, black
hair above his ear. Thus attired in his Sunday best, he went to
keep his date with the tourist girl.
* * *
Lynn sat up slowly and shook her head, her expression one of
dazed bewilderment. It took several minutes for her to arouse the
other girls.
"Tell me," she demanded, "did I dream all this, or did some
fantastically beautiful giant come in here, promise to make us all
rich, and then, single-handed, fuck us all into insensibility?"
"You didn't dream it," Ellen assured her. "He accomplished
in two hours more than all those soldiers and sailors could do in
a night. Or, as you say, 'single-handed'."
"More like single-pricked," Kalola corrected them. "Maybe he
wasn't real. Maybe he is one of the old Hawaiian gods come back
to life."
"Real enough for me," Ellen stated, looking down at the froth
of drying semen fringing her pubic hair.
The girls discussed their mysterious visitor the rest of the
afternoon until Lynn remembered that she had a date with Tony.
She hurriedly showered, changed and ran to the bus stop. She was
only a few minutes late when she entered the room on the top
floor. She was surprised to find the door already unlocked.
Tony was there, on the bed. His naked body, huge and black,
was still, his open eyes staring at the ceiling. Lynn's mouth
opened, and she started to scream in terror when she saw the wound
in his chest from which the blood still oozed sluggishly and the
red tide rolled across the white spread to drop in a widening pool
on the floor.
Her scream was cut off by the shock of seeing a small woman
with slanted eyes hurl herself from a closet, a red-stained
butcher knife in her hand. Lynn did not need to understand the
sputtering stream of Japanese words to know that this would be
Tony's wife, that the woman had already committed murder and was
bent on doubling her score.
Lynn did the natural and instinctive thing. She ducked and
sidestepped the first lunge, then turned and ran. She went the
length of the hall, down the stairs and out onto the street, not
more than one jump ahead of Mrs. Nunez. Taking full advantage of
her longer legs, she raced through the business district of Pearl
City with her deadly pursuer close on her heels. The only thing
that saved her life was the fact that Orientals in the islands
are, by and the large, conscientiously law abiding. Lynn fled
across an intersection on an amber traffic light, but Mrs. Nunez
arrived just as the light turned red. From force of long habit,
she dutifully stopped and was still standing there when a
policeman approached her and asked her what she was doing on the
main street with a bloody butcher knife. While he was
interviewing her, Lynn disappeared in the crowd and went through a
store that fronted on two streets. Emerging from the opposite
entrance, she caught a bus and returned to Waikiki.
Mrs. Nunez convinced the policeman that she had been
butchering a goat when she suddenly remembered she had forgotten
to purchase any sushi for supper. She had not remembered to lay
the knife down before sallying forth on this innocent mission.
Her brother, the gangster, arranged to have Tony's body
disappear, and the word was spread around that the big man had
gone to the mainland, deserting his wife and five children.
The police were the only ones in Pearl City who were not in
on the open secret that Tony's wife had murdered him. Never a
popular woman before her impulsive deed, she now became a favorite
among the Japanese on Oahu. They expressed their approval of her
by inviting her to all of their weddings, christenings and
funerals. She was the guest of honor at the ceremony celebrating
the opening of the new Buddhist temple.
Chapter 8
Lynn was genuinely sorry for the loss of her Portuguese lover
and equally disturbed over the abrupt termination of her sole
source of income. She wondered if she was, after all, a born
loser. She had failed at marriage, at blackmail, and her most
promising career, that of prostitution, had been disappointingly
brief. Now that she stopped to think about it, she had been a
lousy teacher, too, she admitted ruefully. There ought to be
something she could do successfully. One could hardly put an
advertisement in the local paper: "Cocks expertly sucked. $5.00
per orgasm. Satisfaction guaranteed."
Ellen and Kalola were duly sympathetic when she related her
disastrous adventure of the evening.
"That leaves us right back where we started," Kalola stated
gloomily.
"Yeah, even my deal with Joe Moto is a bummer," Ellen put in.
"I can pay the rent by going to bed with him every day, but he
wants exclusive rights to me. He says if he finds out I'm doing
any fucking on the side, he'll toss us all out on our asses."
"I don't know what we're going to do," Lynn sighed.
"Why, we're all going to the island of Maui. That's what
we're going to do," said a voice from the front porch, and the
three girls gave squeals of delight as Wikiwiki opened the screen
door and came into the room.
"Wiki!" Kalola cried, immediately beginning to divest herself
of her skirt and blouse. "The gods must have sent you! We were
all feeling so blue and now you come to cheer us up. Take off
your pants."
"Nothing doing," Wikiwiki declared firmly, placing a huge
hand between her nakedly bouncing breasts to hold her off. "No
sex until we have talked business. That goes for you two as well.
Lynn, please unhand my cock and, Ellen, pull your skirt back
down."
"Oh, all right," Lynn agreed ungraciously. "What's this
about Maui? What's over there?"
"The new, multimillion-dollar hotel and resort, 'The Hotel
Hale-Kaahumanu'," Wikiwiki replied, seating himself in the best
chair in the house and determinedly crossing his legs. "You haole
chicks are new to the islands, so you may not have heard of the
Hale-Kaahumanu, and it was built while Kalola was on the mainland,
so maybe she doesn't know about it either. Well, here is the
story. The hotel is part of a chain that has places like it in
nearly every resort spot on earth. The owner is a rich slob from
New York named Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff. He came out here on
vacation three years ago, bought up some property near Lahina and
started construction. The Hale-Kaahumanu has been open a month
and it's already in bad trouble. The cause of this bad trouble is
Elmer McFarthingale, the hotel manager. Elmer is a jerk, but he
got the job because he is engaged to Evangeline Barrington-Phaff,
the owner's nutty daughter. Evangeline was a jet-set party girl
and a real swinger until she suddenly got religion about a year
ago. The Rasputin in her life is one Mathew Longworth, The Church
of the Blood of our Savior. Anyway, Evangeline, influenced by
this Longworth kook, is the real boss of the new hotel, and she's
turned it into a Sunday School. She even makes poor Elmer require
young couples to show a marriage license before accepting their
reservations."
Kalola shuddered. "What a horrible place! What would we go
there for?"
Wikiwiki grinned fondly. "To take it over. Look, old
Barrington-Phaff isn't a bad guy for a haole, but he doesn't know
what's going on. He turned the whole thing over to his son-in-
law-to-be. I think it's our duty to step in there and save his
investment for him. Of course, as a reward we wind up running the
hotel and Elmer will be out on his fanny. Here's how we go about
it: One of my cousins is the surfing instructor there, and he's
screwing the wife of the man who runs the personnel office and
does all the hiring. I can get us all jobs ... me as a lifeguard
and you three in the kitchen. You start out by screwing the chef
and you soon fuck your way into better and better jobs until,
before you know it, you are so important to the operation that the
hotel can't run without you. Then, when the time is right, wham!
We take over. What do you say?"
"I guess so," Lynn said, frowning. "How do we know when the
time is right, and how do we go about taking over?"
"You leave that to me," Wikiwiki said, tapping the side of
his head to indicate that there, somewhere under his beautiful
shock of curly, black hair, reposed all the brains that could
possibly be required for an undertaking of this sort.
"Okay," Lynn replied, obviously relieved. "But can we do a
little whoring on the side as we go along? I hardly got started
as a chippy when Tony died. I hate to give it up."
"By all means," Wikiwiki assured her. "That's exactly the
sort of thing that a resort hotel needs to liven it up and make it
a success. People don't come here from the mainland just to look
at palm trees and eat pineapples. When I'm manager, all the hotel
employees will be dedicated to the entertainment of the customers.
Just be discreet at first, until we get Elmer and his silly
fiancee, Evangeline, out of the way."
"Now that that's settled," Ellen said, "how about taking care
of us? You promised."
"No, I didn't," Wikiwiki denied. "I said there would be no
sex until we were through discussing business, but I can't
accommodate you myself. I have to work tonight to raise money for
our trip to Maui tomorrow. However, just to show you that I am a
thoughtful person, I brought some friends who will be glad to fix
you up." He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly.
The screened door instantly popped open, and three beach boys
burst into the room.
"I want the fat one!" Lynn cried. "You like getting your
cock sucked, lover boy?"
Leaving the girls to enjoy themselves, Wikiwiki slipped out
into the night and hurried back to the hotel room where he had
left the blonde tourist. He had lied to his new partners. He had
plenty of money, but the slender, delicate bride fascinated him
and he had not yet had enough of her.
He didn't even bother knocking at her door this time, but
pushed it open and went on in. She was in bed with her husband.
He was awkwardly making love to her and neither of them heard
Wikiwiki's bare feet on the carpet. The beach boy politely waited
until they had finished, then tapped the husband on the shoulder.
The startled man looked up to see a bronzed giant towering over
him and shaking his head in disapproval.
"You do not do it right," Wikiwiki said. "You go sit in
chair and I show you mo' bettah how fucky-fucky."
"What?" the husband screeched, both in fear and indignation.
"What are you doing in here? This is our room. You get out. Go
on, before I call the police."
Wikiwiki still stood there, regarding the husband with
sorrowful contempt. "Why fo' yo' haole guy come Hawaii fo'
vacation?" he demanded. "To fucky yo' own wife? Tsk, tsk. Yo'
gonna be long time married same gal. How many times on mainland
yo' gonna get chance fucky cute native chick, hunh?"
"But ... but ... we're just married!" the man protested.
"We're on our honeymoon. Besides, why should I let you fuck my
wife. It's not ... why, it's not even decent!"
His wife laughed. "Robert," she giggled, "you're absolutely
hopeless. The other night when those beach boys took me away from
you and I told you afterward they were just being playful and that
all they did was teach me an old Hawaiian game played at luaus,
you were really stupid enough to believe me, weren't you? What a
dope. As a matter of fact, they very thoroughly raped me and it
was lovely. Then Wikiwiki spent two hours with me earlier this
evening. You really should do as he says. You should sit over
there in a chair and watch an expert. You could use a little
instruction, you know."
Robert was shocked. "You mean you actually let this man make
love to you? And now you're bragging about it ... right to my
face?"
"You better believe it," she replied feelingly. "Don't act
so prissy. I suppose you think I don't know about the Chinese
girl you had at the party. And where were you today while
Wikiwiki was here? Why don't you be a dear and go out on the
town. I'll bet you could pick up one of these pretty brown girls
and have yourself a ball. Like he says, how often will we ever
have a chance to do anything like this back in Iowa?"
Her husband considered her suggestion thoughtfully. "I
suppose you're right," he murmured. "You really don't mind,
dear?"
"Are you kidding?" she asked, laughing. "If you could see
this guy with his pants off, you wouldn't ask me if I mind. Now
will you please quit yakking about it and get the hell out of the
bed so Wikiwiki can get in?"
Robert got up then and began dressing. When he was ready to
go out, he paused at the door and looked back. There was a tangle
of naked brown and white limbs already thrashing frantically at
the bed.
"You certainly have changed since I met you at the Methodist-
Christian Youth Rally in Sioux City," he said, but the only answer
from the bed was the sibilant hiss of heavy breathing and the
protesting squeak of the bedsprings.
He closed the door softly behind him as he left. As he
walked down the hall to the elevator, he was thinking that Doris
was a very sweet girl, even though she had turned out to be bolder
and somewhat more adventurous than he had supposed. He wondered
if the International Market Place was still open. There had been
a cute native girl there who had given him the eye earlier that
day. Yes, Hawaii was a wonderful place and everything the travel
folders had promised. Perhaps Doris would agree to returning
every year for their vacation.
Wikiwiki withdrew his cock from the sucking embrace of the
girl's pussy and, turning quickly on the bed, he thrust the head
of it between her lips. From the way she gagged and sputtered, he
knew this was a new experience for her ... that she'd probably
never heard of such a thing before. Fine. He liked the role of
instructor to the young and innocent. He'd teach her even more.
He jammed his tongue into her, wishing, as he often did, that it
was as long as his prick. Her skin was so white, so fragile. Her
inner thighs were as soft on his cheeks as the caress of a
gardenia-scented breeze, and his nose was filled with the perfumed
aroma of her musk. What a shame for a jerk like Robert to have
won a prize like this! After he became manager of the Hale-
Kaahumanu, he would write to her. By that time she would be sick
of Robert and he could talk her into coming back to Hawaii to
stay. She would make a fine addition to his harem and he knew she
would be glad to become a hustler for his sake.
Doris didn't know what to make of having her mouth filled
with prick, but as it began to slide smoothly back and forth over
her tongue, well lubricated by pre-orgasmic jism, she decided she
didn't really mind at all. She stroked his legs, smelling the
warm sand and sea scent of them and loved the feel of his softly
haired scrotum thudding rhythmically against her nose, and she
adored what he was doing to her with his mouth. She felt him suck
the membranous flesh of her vulva between his teeth while his
tongue did a little dance on the button of her clitoris. He had
found her anus with one finger and was forcing the puckery,
tightly muscled orifice to yield to him. Suddenly his finger shot
into her. The pain was excruciating and yet infinitely thrilling,
magnifying her passion and creating in her a white-hot frenzy of
lust. He fucked his finger in and out of her and she loved it,
wishing it was as large as his cock as she strained her slender
body toward him, lifting her lovely legs into the air to spread
herself even more for him.
Just before she began to come and at the same time to swallow
rapidly as his sperm filled her mouth, she determined that she and
Robert would return to Hawaii every year for their vacation. If
Robert didn't want to come with her, to hell with him. She
wondered if Wikiwiki would someday consent to let her stay with
him. Maybe he would if she offered to become a whore and give him
all the money she would make. She would write to him after she
went home to Sioux City. Perhaps she could convince him.
* * *
The grounds of the Hale-Kaahumanti were a beautiful and
gracious example of tropical landscaping and made up in part for
the cold unloveliness of the towering edifice of glass and steel
that rose, tier upon tier, above the surrounding cane fields on
the edge of Lahina.
It was not the happy, bustling, prosperous place it could
have been. There was a sad, hushed hollowness to the sound of
footfalls in its nearly empty halls and an air of solemn, funeral
morbidity to its dining room. There was music. Sound poured from
many speakers, but not the lively beat of The Hawaiian War Chant.
No, the listeners were, instead, treated to muted strains from
Wagner's Tannhauser.
"This place gives I me the creeps," Lynn said for the
hundredth time since she, her girl friends and Wikiwiki had
arrived there a week before. She was off-duty from her job as
salad maker and was lounging on the tiny section of beach reserved
for employees. The man with her was Koko, the half-Japanese bell
captain. He was a pudgy, soft-looking person, with a roll of fat
above the top of his trunks and slanted eyes so slitted in his
moon face that the irises were invisible.
"It isn't very lively," he admitted. "I don't think it will
remain open for long if the owner's daughter continues to
influence Mr. McFarthingale. The only guests we've attracted so
far are people so old that all they want is quiet. It's like a
rest home for the nearly dead."
"How about Mr. Martin in Sixteen?" Lynn asked. "He's not
over sixty."
Koko shrugged. "He's leaving tomorrow. Shame, too. He's
the only tipper in the place. I'd find another job if I could.
He rang for ice water this morning and when I took it up to him,
he hinted around that he'd enjoy a little female companionship and
there'd be a few bucks in it for me if I could supply him. I had
to let him know the policy of the hotel is dead set against that
sort of thing. He got mad and told me he was checking out. Hell
of a place."
Lynn sat up, her eyes glowing with interest. "He did? Look,
Koko, why don't you use your influence to get me transferred to
the room service staff? You get me a job as maid and I'll
guarantee that Martin won't leave. How's that?"
Koko looked surprised. "You'd let the old fart have a little
... for money? If anyone found out, and it got back to
Evangeline, she'd fire me."
"Aw, come on. Take a chance."
"I don't know. I don't think I better."
"Maybe I can change your mind for you," Lynn said as she
looked around to make sure they were alone on the beach, then
reached behind her to unsnap her halter top. Her beautiful
breasts, starkly white against the tan of her torso, stood out
defiantly and she wiggled her body, making them dance enticingly.
She heard Koko's sharp gasp.
"I could be very nice to you if you would get me that new
job," she suggested, smiling at him. To prove it, she unbuttoned
the bottom part of her sun suit and began rolling it down over her
lush hips. "How about it?"
Koko licked his lips and began to perspire. "I'm a married
man," he said, "and I've been true to my wife, but I've never
fucked a white girl and I've always wanted to try it. Will you
let me do something special with you if I agree?"
"Sure. What's your perversion?"
Koko winced. "We could go up there in those bushes," he
whispered hoarsely. "I could cut a small switch. I'd like to
whip you on the fanny before we do it. My wife won't let me do
that."
"Just don't mark me," Lynn cautioned him. "I want a nice,
smooth ass for Mr. Martin, you know."
"All right," Koko affirmed eagerly. "Let's go."
They walked up the beach to the stand of brush, and Lynn lay
on the warm sand while he broke off a slender switch. He knelt on
the ground beside her and she heard it whistle through the air
before it touched her buttocks with a streak of fire. She began
to regret her bargain, but remembered that Wikiwiki was counting
on her, so she clenched her teeth and determined to endure the
pain of the flagellation. Again and again he struck her. Just
when she thought she could no longer stand it, she became aware
that the agony seemed to diminish now with each stroke. Soon the
blows had entirely lost their sting, and instead she noticed a
tingling thrill that ran through her each time he applied the
switch to her skin. It was, she thought, something like the time
she had taken a tablet of Ellen's LSD. The beating was somehow
making her come more alive, increasing and expanding her
awareness. She saw the sand a few inches from her face with
startling clarity, felt the slight, on-shore breeze in a new and
different way and the smell of the sea was a heady, pungent aroma
she had never before noticed. She was also more aware of her own
body and its nakedness. She was acutely conscious of how she must
look to him, all of her back, her buttocks and her lower body
exposed to his gaze. It thrilled her in a strange way she had
never before known. She impulsively spread her legs, wanting him
to see her cunt and her asshole. Her clitoris was throbbing as
though each blow of the whip was a finger or a tongue stroking it
avidly. She wondered if she was going to come.
"Now I'm ready," Koko panted. "Turn over."
"Oh, yes! Yes!" she breathed, tormented with passion and
desire as she flung herself over on her back, having to restrain
herself from screaming with joy as he mounted her and thrust his
cock into her with one savage lunge.
It was a thing done convulsively and jerkily, done in the
red, swirling mist of a lust that burned them both and drove them
at each other like two mad animals in the frenzy of their heat.
It was over quickly, but was so intense that Lynn feared she would
die in the blazing fires of the orgasm that shook her every nerve
and muscle.
While he lay panting on her exhausted body, his cock still in
her, she put her hand under one of her breasts and lifted a nipple
to his mouth, indicating by the urgency with which she crushed her
soft yet firm abundance against his face that she wanted him to
bite her. He obliged her, and she knew one more thrill of dying
passion as his teeth crushed down on the magenta delicacy.
He raised his head and, for the first time, she could see his
eyes. They gleamed at her strangely, still clouded with lust,
remote and somehow excitingly evil.
"You liked it, didn't you?" he asked her. He sounded as
though he thought that an unbelievable miracle.
"I loved it!" she breathed.
"It's better with a belt," he told her, "and there is another
way ... with the end of a wet towel. The towel hurts like hell
and leaves red welts, but they disappear in an hour."
"I want to do it every way you know," she told him. "You can
make up some kind of a story for your wife and come to my room at
night."
"If I had the nerve, I would kill my wife. That is why we
have no children ... she won't let me whip her and that is the
only way I can get an erection. She doesn't care. She is a cold
bitch. I have dreamed about taking her far out on the beach,
where no one could hear her scream, and having a really good time
with her."
Lynn shuddered. "You better not," she said. "You might get
caught. You can come to my room and use a belt or towel on me
whenever you feel like it. Will you get me on as a maid? I'll
give you a percentage of what I get from Martin, or any other man
in the hotel."
"Sure. I can fix it this afternoon. Can I whip you again
now?"
"Oh, yes! Please do!"
* * *
That evening, dressed in her new costume as a maid, Lynn went
to Room Sixteen. She knocked lightly on the door and went in
before the white-haired man on the bed could answer. "Oh," she
exclaimed, pretending to be surprised to see him lying there, his
puffy, corpulent body clothed only in underwear. "I didn't know
you were in, Mr. Martin. I just wanted to tidy up a bit in here.
Don't bother to get up, sir. I'll only be a minute." She turned
her back on him and bent from the waist to pick up some lint from
the carpet. She was well aware that the action exposed her legs
and the backs of her thighs to the lacy fringe of her panties.
She took her time with the lint and, when she straightened up, she
was flushed from the effort.
"My but I envy you," Lynn said. "You certainly look nice and
cool that way. Goodness! There's another piece of lint." She
bent again so that the backs of her legs were pressed against the
edge of the bed. When she felt his flabby old hand tentatively
touch her thigh she held still, letting him explore, then came
slowly erect and gave him a dimpled smile over her shoulder.
"Your hand feels good there," she assured him. "It's so cool."
"One way to beat the heat, eh, girlie?" he cackled. "I guess
that dumb Jap finally got on the ball. Next thing is whether you
can get me a hard-on or not. I'm not as young as I used to be and
I sometimes have trouble that way."
"I don't charge any more to suck it," Lynn suggested, "and
I'll bet that will get you excited. Wait a moment and I'll take
my clothes off. Then we can have a real nice time."
"Suits me. I'll pay you whether I come or not. You're a
beauty. Having you will be worth it, no matter what happens."
As Lynn knelt on the bed and took his white, limp cock in her
mouth, she was remembering the hot sands of the beach and Koko's
slitty, evil, thrilling eyes as he had begun whipping her the
second time.
She could hardly wait for night.
Chapter 9
Of the nine guests at the Hale-Kaahumanu, only seven were of
the paying variety. The other two were the owner's daughter,
Evangeline Barrington-Phaff and the man who had changed her from a
fun-loving, free-wheeling, jet-set playgirl-about-town to an
other-worldly, mystic, religious nut--the Reverend Matthew
Longworth. He had left his flock of converts in New York to
follow her to the island of Maui ... all expenses paid, of course.
Let it not be supposed, however, that he was in it just for the
free room and board and the several thousand dollars a month he
managed to cozen her out of. Not at all. He was also quite madly
in love with her. He was tormented by the fact that it was, as
far as he knew, an unrequited love. Never having confessed this
human weakness to her, he could not be absolutely sure that she
would not be responsive. He was sure beyond any doubt that her
father had no use for him whatsoever, either as a man or as a
prospective son-in-law, and only tolerated him as a minister
because of what the old man hoped was his daughter's temporary
mental affliction.
Caught thus in a sticky web largely of his own making
Longworth was not a happy man. Should he go on bended knee before
Evangeline, plead his cause and try to beat McFarthingale's time
with her, risking the chance that she would not only reject him
but also be disillusioned with him as her spiritual leader? This
could cost him a tidy bit of cash should she order him to split
the scene. On the other hand, suppose she accepted him ... what
of Papa Barrington-Phaff? The old bastard was perfectly capable
of booting them out into the cold, cruel world. What then? Work?
He shuddered at the thought. No, better to let things go as they
were for the time being at least, go on suffering in silence,
hoping that Elmer McFarthingale would fortuitously expire from
some loathsome and rare tropical disease and that Evangeline's
father might then undergo a change of heart.
At the moment, he was sitting in Evangeline's room, watching
her comb her long, golden-blonde hair. Well he was not really
looking at her hair. His attention rather was centered on that
place where the front of her dressing gown had been left
carelessly open. He stared in breathless fascination as the
movements of her arms opened and closed the gap in the gown,
alternately revealing and hiding one full, gorgeously round breast
and part of the other. If only she would brush just a bit more
vigorously, or perhaps lean a little forward, he was sure he could
catch sight of the nipple. Ah! There! This time for sure! Oh,
hell! She had straightened her back the tiniest bit of an inch
necessary to spoil the view he had so anticipated. Although the
room was air-conditioned, his forehead was beaded with
perspiration. In the crotch of his pants, gripped firmly between
his legs to hide it, his cock was like a throbbing iron bar.
"Elmer has been after me again about entertainment,"
Evangeline was saying. "I suppose we should have something of the
sort, but finding entertainers in this terrible, pagan, savage
country is nearly impossible. All they know are their sinful,
wicked, native dances and their coarse, vulgar songs. I just
don't know what to do. What do you think?"
"Hunh?" Longworth grunted, the question taking him unaware.
He had been only half listening to her chatter as he had allowed
his mind to dwell on her body.
"Oh, yes," he said brightly and too loudly. "Yes, you are
quite right, of course. Perhaps you can get Elmer to bring some
talent from the mainland ... a good choir." Damn the woman! Now
she had crossed her legs and the gown had fallen open from the
waist down. How could a man be in the presence of those creamy,
perfectly molded thighs and keep his mind on her silly
conversation? What the hell right did she have being so
beautiful, anyway? He'd have to get out of there before he made a
fool of himself.
He chatted with her another few minutes, then excused himself
and went to his room. He fell across his bed, tearing frantically
at his belt and zipper then shoving his trousers and shorts down
to free his long, white cock with its pinkish head and the
aristocratic, blue veins that laced the underside of it. He
gripped it in his hand, closing his eyes and visualizing a vivid
picture of Evangeline's beautiful breasts, her seductive legs and
the coral-tinted flesh of her vulva, nakedly exposed and gasping
with desire for his prick. He pictured himself kissing her all
over, nuzzling and mouthing her perfumed flesh, then mounting her
and raping her with cruel, savage thrusts of his cock. His hand
began moving up and down on his organ, slowly at first, then
faster and faster as he writhed and groaned.
He came after a while, the grayish yellow of his jism
squirting up from the head of his cock to fall on the bedspread,
then, as the pressure behind it decreased, to only ooze out,
running down over the back of his hand to foul his own clothing to
collect in his matted pubic hair.
"Goddamn you, Evangeline!" he muttered. "Goddamn you for
making me want you this way." Then, still holding his now flaccid
cock, he fell asleep.
* * *
On the beach, Wikiwiki lolled in the slender shade of a
coconut palm. With him was his cousin, surfing instructor at the
hotel.
"We got the best jobs in the world," Wikiwiki was saying.
"Man, you can't beat big pay and no work. Too bad it won't last."
The cousin, a man named "Teo", looked at Wikiwiki with
suspicion. He had learned as a child that his good-looking
relative always had an angle and was not apt to make even the most
innocent statements without being shrewdly motivated. Still, even
knowing this, Teo had been falling into Wikiwiki's verbal traps
all of his life. Curiosity was his undoing.
"How come?" he asked at last, cursing himself for a sucker
even as he did so and wondering what kind of trouble Wikiwiki was
going to get him into this time.
"Not hard to figure," Wikiwiki responded, idly tossing a
handful of sand at a small crab. "You know how much it costs to
keep a joint like this going for one day? Plenty. So we got
seven customers. How long do you think old Euclid J. is going to
stand for that? I'll tell you ... about as long as it takes him
to glance at the first month's balance sheet and then reach for a
phone. Bang! The dump is shut down and we're all out of work.
Auwe! It is a sad thing but, what the hell? That's life, I
guess."
Teo nodded solemnly, relieved. Wikiwiki had said nothing
that hadn't been discussed over an over again by all the
employees. "Nothing we can do about it," he muttered.
"Maybe ... and maybe there is," Wikiwiki replied. "We all
know what's needed ... some entertainment. Why, for chrissakes,
did you know that the famous Kalola Kalikimaka, best and hottest
hula dancer since before the missionaries came, is working right
here in the kitchen? Did you know that Lynn Charles, the top
public relations girl in San Francisco, is pushing a vacuum
cleaner here? Do you think a dope like Elmer McFarthingale has
got enough sense to see what is right under his nose? Hell no!
Not when all his nose is good for is sniffing after Evangeline's
pussy. Too bad the word can't get to him that he's got a couple
of the hottest properties in the hotel business right on his own
staff."
"Kalola Kalikimaka I've heard of," Teo admitted, "but who is
this Lynn Charles chick?"
"You never heard of Lynn Charles?" Wikiwiki was shocked.
"Boy, you guys who stay all of your life on Maui are sure
provincial and dumb. Listen to this: Less than a month ago, the
Pacific Paradise Hotel on Oahu was about to go to the wall. It
was in pretty near as bad shape as this one. This Lynn Charles
organized a luau that was the damnedest whingding Hawaii has seen
this century. The publicity put the old Pacific Paradise back on
its feet and took it out of the red. If you don't believe me, you
can ask Joe Moto, the owner. And you say you never heard of Lynn
Charles. Brother!"
Teo scratched his head. "So what?"
"It's simple," Wikiwiki said. "You're screwing the wife of
the man in the personnel office. You get this information to her
and she relays it to her husband. He wants to keep his job, just
like all of us do, so he goes to Elmer with it. Elmer knows he
has to do something, and do it fast. He'll grab at the chance.
What he should do is make Lynn the new social director and build a
regular night club-type act around Kalola. With those two kids
working for him, this place will come to life. Will you do it,
Teo?"
"I don't know," Teo muttered. "Remember the time you talked
me into helping you start a whore-house in the old sugar mill
building with all junior high school girls? We're lucky we didn't
land in jail on that one."
"Aw, this is different. We were just kids then. How about
your own job here? Don't you want to keep it?"
"Well ..."
* * *
The hotel's personnel manager considered his wife a smart
woman. He never questioned how she always seemed to know more
about what went on concerning his own job than he did. He lost no
time in going to Elmer McFarthingale with the news.
"Sounds great," Elmer agreed, "but what am I to do about
Evangeline? You know she'd never stand for a hula dancer, and I
imagine this Lynn Charles is quite ah ... er ... modern in her
approach to publicity."
"You have to decide between Evangeline and your job ... all
of our jobs."
"I suppose so," Elmer agreed doubtfully. "I love her, but
her father will shut this place down if some changes aren't made,
and soon. If only there was something I could do about that
Matthew Longworth character. She was a great girl before he came
into her life."
"I know," the personnel manager agree unhappily.
These two men were worthy fellows, but they lacked Wikiwiki's
pragmatic approach to life. The beach boy was not content with
merely planting the seed of an idea in Teo's head, to be warmed in
the bed of his lady love, the wife of the personnel manager, and
then timidly bloom in the office of the hotel manager, Elmer
McFarthingale. No, Wikiwiki was well aware that Evangeline, and
her spiritual mentor, Matthew Longworth, were the grit in the fine
cogs and rollers of progress and he meant to do something about
them. His first move was to call on Ellen Canfield.
"Honey," he said to her, "how would you like to suddenly get
religion?"
She looked at him to see if he was kidding, then shook her
head. "Nope. Nothing doing. I don't have time for all that
church going. I'm a busy girl. It's all I can do now to take
care of my job in the kitchen, get myself laid six or seven times
every day and then still have a few hours left for tripping on pot
or LSD. While you're here, let's fuck."
"Not now. This is serious. You don't really have to get
religion ... just pretend to. Now here's what I want you to do.
First chance you get, you ..."
After a serious consultation with Lynn and Kalola on the
subject of what she should wear, it was decided that Ellen should
don one of Lynn's knit dresses ... with nothing under it but her
own vibrant, young body.
"You got big tits," Kalola declared. "No use strapping 'em
down. Men like a bouncy girl."
"You sure you know what to say now?" Lynn asked, her
expression that of an anxious mother about to attend her
daughter's first performance in a school play.
"Sure," Ellen replied casually. "Wikiwiki coached me."
The Reverend Matthew Longworth evidenced his surprise when he
answered Ellen's timid knock at his door. He listened
sympathetically but somewhat absentmindedly as she explained that
she was in need of spiritual guidance and wondered if he could
spare a few minutes of his valuable time to make certain matters
of moral significance clear to her.
"Of course, my dear. Do come in and be seated," he invited
her. She had unwittingly picked a most auspicious time for the
interview. He had just returned from a session with Evangeline
and had not yet had time to masturbate, so he was in a highly
excited condition that her lovely face and sensuous body did
nothing to dispel. He watched her wiggle and bounce across the
room, sit on the edge of his bed and cross her legs in such a way
that the maximum area of bare flesh was revealed. She regarded
him with wide-eyed innocence, but answered a prompting question
with unexpected frankness.
"I wouldn't dream of telling this to anyone else," she told
him, "but you being a minister and all ... well, I guess you must
hear all kinds of things ... like a doctor. My problem is sin.
I'm just not sure what is sinful and what isn't. I mean, everyone
seems to have different ideas about sin and I don't see how I'm
supposed to know which is wrong and which is right."
"Hummm," Longworth mused, making a steeple out of his fingers
and looking profound while he privately wondered if she really was
as braless as she appeared to be. And, if so, what kept those
amazing boobies so jauntily erect in defiance of the law of
gravity. "Precisely what aspect of sin is it that perplexes you,
my dear?" he asked.
"Oh, all of it," Ellen replied, "but especially the part
about sex. I don't want to do wrong, but I do have to keep up
with style and custom or look like a freak. Take these miniskirts
..." She picked at the hem of the knit dress. "They're
comfortable and I guess the men like them, but are they really
immoral? And then there's the subject of underwear. I hate to
put on panties and bras, yet some of the older women tell me I'm a
bad girl for dressing the way I am now. But I guess the worst
thing is the dreams. Am I responsible for what I dream, Reverend
Longworth? Every night I have these wonderful dreams about older
men. You see, I don't like boys my own age; they're so crude and
stupid. Anyway, I dream that older men, not real old, you
understand, just mature and handsome and attractive like you, take
me down on a bed, take my clothes off of me and kiss my body all
over. Then they take their clothes off and get on top of me and
..."
"Quite so. Quite so," Longworth interposed. "I think I
understand."
"I'll bet you don't ... not really," Ellen protested. "How
could you know what it's like to be a girl and have a man lift
your skirt like this and rub his hands all over your belly and
down into your hair?" She pulled her skirt up above her navel and
demonstrated with her own hand. "You try it," she suggested,
lying back down on the bed, "and you'll see what I mean. How can
I trust what you tell me if I don't know you've experienced it?"
Longworth was not exactly a fool. Like a wary fox, he
smelled the trap. But was the overpowering scent of the bait more
than he could resist? He knew she was putting it on a bit thick,
but damnit there she was, all spread out there on the bed, her
beautiful, young legs already quivering in anticipation, her open
thighs revealing the puffy pink lips of her vulva haloed by soft,
blonde hair. His cock was so hard it ached. And now she was
lifting the knit dress even higher, pulling and bunching it up on
her torso to expose those magnificent breasts. Good God! What
was he to do? No doubt it was a trap and he ... he ... Oh, to
hell with it!
"Do you mean that those men in your dreams feel of you like
this?" he asked as he moved to the edge of the bed beside her and
put his hand on the warm satin of her thigh.
"Um humm," Ellen moaned. "Like that, only they rub and pet
me, especially between the legs, and then they kiss me and bite me
all over."
"Like this?"
"Oh, yes! But they also take their own clothes off and they
always put their pricks in my hand while they're kissing me. I'll
admit, however, that this is much nicer than it is in my dreams.
Oh! It's a lovely one, so long and so white! It's so pretty I
hope you won't mind if I just kiss the head of it. My but it's
juicy! I don't see how anything as nice as this could be very
sinful, do you, Reverend Longworth?"
Longworth made a gurgling, burbling, indecipherable sound in
answer, for his mouth was deeply involved with her sweet, young
cunt and his tongue was probing the channel of her vagina as far
as it could reach. Ellen sighed with contentment and swallowed as
much of his prick as her mouth could accommodate. The thighs
against which her nose was pressed were sweaty and hairy, but she
didn't mind in the least. She was rather tired of smooth, dry-
bodied young men. She had done this just to please Wikiwiki, but
now she found that she was enjoying the preacher more than she had
any man since that memorable first week with Max Kern.
He made her come quickly, his frantically eager tongue and
sucking lips drawing all sensation along the tingling, vibrating
threads of her nerves to concentrate it in that one, intensely
sensitive spot, then sending it back like an echo magnified a
thousand times to crash and reverberate in resounding waves of
passion through her entire body. As she exploded in the furious
release of orgasm, she felt his balls pumping against her forehead
and then he was coming, too, the hot, wonderful stuff squirting
out onto her tongue, sweet and satisfying in her throat.
"Now you know how I feel in my dreams," Ellen whispered when
he had taken his face from between her thighs and had turned
around on the bed. "But you still don't understand what it is
like when they fuck me. Perhaps I better demonstrate that, too.
If I play with your prick, I'm sure I can get you another hard-on.
Oh, yes, and you must kiss my breasts. My dream men always suck
my nipples and bite me there ... just little nibbles, you know."
"Yes, I know," Longworth panted. "Yes, I'm sure you're
right. I'd better fuck you. I do want to be sure. Your titties
are beautiful ... much lovelier than--I mean they are so unusually
large and well shaped." He lowered his head to those perfumed
pillows, their warmth and fullness caressing his cheeks.
Ellen felt for his cock, loving the way it fit her curled
fingers. She put her hand on the back of his head and pressed his
face harder into her bosom, and the smile on her lips was the
secret smile of a woman nursing a baby.
Following Wikiwiki's instructions, Lynn was in the lobby with
Koko. She glanced at her wrist watch. "It's time," she told him.
"Go ahead and call her."
Koko looked unhappy. "I don't know that I should. Suppose
she recognizes my voice? I could get fired."
"And if you don't do it, we could all get fired," Lynn
reminded him. "Come on, get busy. Remember that little whip you
ordered from a specialty house on the mainland? I could refuse to
let you use it on me when it arrives. Pick up the phone."
Koko turned white and droplets of moisture appeared on his
forehead at her threat. With a shaking hand he picked up the
house phone and called Evangeline's room number.
"Mr. Longworth want to see you right 'way, Missy. You go his
room chop chop, hunh?" he squeaked into the mouthpiece. He hung
up quickly and wiped his head with a colored handkerchief. "Do
you suppose the accent fooled her?" he asked hopefully.
"Sure it did," Lynn reassured him. "You're a doll, Koko
baby. Let's go to one of the empty rooms on my floor and make
love. You can use your belt on me first. I've got a date with
Mr. Martin for later, but I want you now. Only I wish you'd hit
harder with that belt. You're too much afraid of hurting me."
"Wait until the whip gets here," Koko reminded her. "You'll
love it."
* * *
"I won't do it," Teo said stoutly. "This is going too far,
Wiki. You've pulled some crazy stunts, but this is going to be
really big trouble and I don't want any part of it."
"Bullshit!" Wikiwiki countered scornfully. "What can you
lose? I'm taking all the risk. All I asked you to do was to
steal a waiter's uniform for me. Lynn could make Koko get me one,
but the little Jap is so scared now he's about to shit his pants.
You're Hawaiian. Aren't you ashamed to have no more guts than a
Jap?"
Teo hung his head. "When do you want it?" he muttered.
"In ten minutes," Wikiwiki answered firmly, "so hop to it.
Right now, Evangeline Barrington-Phaff is up there in her room
either crying her pretty eyes out or having hysterics. She needs
to be comforted, and I'm just the guy to comfort a gorgeous, nutty
babe like her. You want to be responsible if maybe she jumps out
of the window or something?"
Teo looked confused, but he shook his head. "Okay," he said
wearily, "but this is the last time I ever get mixed up in one of
your screwy schemes. Absolutely the last damned time."
Chapter 10
"What are you doing here? I didn't send for you," Evangeline
asked as the tall waiter in the too-small uniform came into her
room carrying a pitcher of ice water. She was face down on the
bed, her words muffled by the pillow into which she had been
crying.
"Perhaps some mistake," Wikiwiki suggested meekly, setting
the pitcher and glass on her bedside stand and viewing with
appreciation the delightful, feminine shape so barely concealed by
a lacy nightgown and negligee. Through the filmy material gleamed
the pink-white contours of sensuously rounded thighs and the
prettiest ass he had yet beheld. "Is something wrong that you cry
so hard?" he inquired solicitously. "Has some man been unkind to
you? How could anyone be mean to such a lovely angel of a girl."
Evangeline raised her tear-puffy face from the wet pillow to
regard him with curiosity. She was a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist,
considering herself by birth, by race and by social position, far
above anyone with a darker skin than her own. Yet she was sick
with despair and heartbreak, and the tall, young man, as handsome
as a Playboy ad, spoke to her gently and with compassion, and in
her desperation she found herself responding to him.
"I have been betrayed!" she sobbed dramatically. "The faith
around which I have built my life has been destroyed. I believed
the Reverend Matthew Longworth to be a saintly, righteous, pure
man, and now I find he has feet of clay. I caught him doing
despicable and depraved things with one of the kitchen sluts. I
hate him and I hate the God he pretends to worship!" She went
into a sudden rage of temper, beating her fists on the bed and
kicking her heels as though furiously pedaling a bicycle. "The
dirty, no-good, mother-fucking, shit-assed son of a bitch!" she
screamed shrilly, her profanity reminding Wikiwiki that this girl
had been a swinger and, reputedly, a hell-raising, little bitch
before getting religion.
"There, there now," Wikiwiki murmured soothingly, "don't let
a bastard like Longworth upset you so. You're too fine and sweet
a girl to throw your life away over a fink like him. Look, we
islanders have Oriental blood, and we understand how foul blows to
the spirit and the heart can be relieved by revenge. This is what
you should do to make yourself happy again. You must revenge
yourself on this man. I will help you."
Evangeline turned over and sat up, her gray eyes interested
and already darkening with the murky passion of the evil thoughts
stirring in her brain. "Yes!" she hissed. "I see that you are
right. I will be revenged! I will cut his damned heart out!"
"No, no!" Wikiwiki protested. "Nothing so crude and so
quick. Vengeance, to be effective, must be done with subtle
cruelty so that the victim suffers over a long period of time, so
that you may enjoy his writhings and twistings and his cries for
mercy before the final moment when you tire of the sport and
dispatch him to meet his gods. That is the Oriental way."
She nodded. "I see what you mean. But how do I go about it?
A slow poison perhaps?"
"No. Mental torture is the best. You must destroy his image
of himself and the one he presents the world. What is his reason
for being here in Hawaii? And what is the thing he considers his
greatest accomplishment. I will tell you. It is you."
"Me?"
"Of course. The rag-tag of followers he has in his church in
New York mean nothing to him. His greatest pride lies in the fact
that he had converted one of society's richest and most famous
women ... you, Evangeline Barrington-Phaff. Through his lies and
his deceit, he has turned you from the gay, happy, carefree life
you once led and humbled you to the position of apostle to him.
How can you most painfully damage him? Easy. You must deny him
and all he has taught you. You must become a sinner on the grand
scale, a veritable hellcat of a female, a low, lewd, lascivious
and lustful wench, a depraved and degraded slut. Furthermore, you
will be killing two birds with one stone."
"How so?"
"Elmer McFarthingale. Believe me, it pains me to tell you
this, but I feel it's my duty. As you know, servants are the last
ones from whom secrets can be kept. I happen to know that Elmer
is marrying you only for your money. Would any man who really
loved you have allowed a stinker like Longworth to treat you this
way?"
Evangeline considered this news, then bobbed her head in
agreement. "You're right. I should have seen what he was up to.
I was only marrying him to please my father anyway."
"Tell me," Wikiwiki questioned her, "is Longworth aware that
you saw him in his act of debauchery with the kitchen chick?"
"No. The door was unlocked and I didn't knock. I only
opened it enough to see what was going on and then I ran back to
my room. Do you know what that monster was doing to that young
girl? She was on her hands and knees on the bed and he was
kneeling behind her. He had his thing in her rectum!"
"Tsk, tsk," Wikiwiki clucked. "Are you ready now to begin
your revenge?"
Evangeline looked startled. "Yes ... well ... that is I
guess so, but I don't know how to go about it. If I'm to become a
fallen woman, I'll first have to find a suitable partner ... I
mean, a woman of my social position, I can't just do that sort of
thing with anyone."
Wikiwiki shook his head. "I see you have a lot to learn
about revenge. What will the shock value be in doing something
like that with a respectable, acceptable man? No, to really
degrade yourself, you must find someone who is as far beneath you
as possible, a member of the working class ... better yet would be
a menial, a servant like myself."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. I see. But who can I start
with?"
"Well," Wikiwiki replied after appearing to give the matter
his thoughtful consideration, "he should be a native, because that
makes it even worse, doesn't it? He should be a servant ... such
as, oh, for instance, a waiter. On the other hand, I wouldn't
suggest you begin with someone so ugly he would be repulsive to
you. You can work down to that sort by gradual stages."
"But how?"
Wikiwiki hung his head and murmured Modestly, "How about me?
I would be most happy to be of service to you in this matter."
"You? Hummm. Well, why not? For a native, you are very
attractive. Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Oh, not at all!" he assured her feelingly, his greedy eyes
on magnificent breasts that rose and fell under the sheer gown as
her breathing increased in rapidity due to the mingled emotions of
hate, fear and excitement at the daring thing she was about to do.
"That's very kind of you," she replied. "I suppose you've
heard of the reputation I had before I met that Longworth
character, so you'll be surprised to learn that I am still a
virgin. Will it hurt?"
"Yes," he answered honestly. "It will hurt a little and it
will be messy. There is usually some blood. But just think how
the pain and the blood add to the degradation. Remember that you
are about to be fucked by a black, ignorant savage, and a servant
at that, one you wouldn't ordinarily stoop to speak to ... except
to give a command. Ah, your revenge will be very complete with my
help! If you are ready, let's do it now. Later, you can tell
Longworth, and the whole world, what you have done. You can be
seen necking with me in public, and we can arrange to get
ourselves thrown out of the best and the worst places in the
islands for unbecoming conduct. I will teach you to dress, look
and talk like the lowest and cheapest whore. Lay back down on the
bed and pull your gown up. See, I am removing my trousers."
"I ... I don't know," Evangeline quavered, her face contorted
with indecision and sudden doubt as she gazed with wide,
frightened eyes and sagging chin at Wikiwiki's naked loins from
which arched up the fearsome length of his bronzed and quivering
prick, the small, vertical mouth in the darker head already
drooling in anticipation. "I don't think I should. Maybe I
better ..."
"Too late!" he cried and launched himself upon her like a
young panther. A brutal knee went up between hers, forcing her
legs apart as, with one ripping motion of his hand, he tore her
gown from neckline to hem, exposing her great, gorgeous breasts.
"You've been spoiling for this for years," he grunted. "A good
fucking is all you've ever needed to make a woman out of you.
That's it ... fight me. Make it rape and then it will be even
better when you tell it to Longworth. When I'm through with you,
you'll be ready to screw anything with a cock and balls. You'll
crawl on your knees and beg and whine to get it from any man.
You'll fuck in the back seats of cars, on the beach and in alleys
between the garbage cans and think you're lucky to get the chance.
They'll call you 'splatter ass' and 'punchboard' and 'roundheels'
and you'll love those names. Longworth will hate the day he ever
met you. Say goodbye to your maidenhead. After this you're a
slut ... lower than that girl from the kitchen."
With one mighty lunge of his powerful body, he drove his cock
into her to the hilt. He grinned in delight to feel the head of
it tearing its way through the tender, membranous lining of her
cunt. His laughter was as loud as her piercing scream of agony.
The shock and the pain of the initial assault kept her from
fighting him as he slowly began to fuck her, his big cock probing
her hitherto untried and unused, inner person. He was deriving
more pleasure from her than from any other of the many women and
girls he had rolled in the hay during his busy career. In the
first place, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known
and, as he deliberately prolonged the act, he was extremely
conscious of the lush, creamy body under him, of the fabulous
breasts crushed against his chest and of the soft, womanly thighs
that surpassed in beauty the thighs of Aphrodite. Not normally
either an unkind or even unchivalrous fellow, his intense desire
for her was not unmixed with hate. He was aware of her racial
prejudice, and it gave him a certain fiendish pleasure to have
outwitted her and conquered her.
He made it last a long time ... long enough for the pain he
was causing her to subside and for her to recover from the brain-
numbing effects of shock so that she was fully aware of her
situation. She realized the futility of fighting him and strove
only to get away from his punishing prick, but he held her by the
weight of his body and the strength of his powerful arms. She
begged and cursed and threatened, but he ignored her, not caring
how loud she screamed, for he knew that her suite was the only one
occupied on the top floor. Worn out at last from her strenuous
efforts, she lay slack and unmoving beneath him, even the source
of her tears eventually running dry.
He continued the deliberate, even rhythm of his fucking until
he could no longer hold back the gathering tension of his nervous
system, and at last his orgasm was triggered. His feverishly
pumping testicles drove the cum into her in a gushing torrent,
flooding her cunt and oozing out to run down the crack of her ass
onto the bed. His coming shook him as he had never been shaken
before. For the first time in his life, it was a total thing, a
complete bodily and mental involvement that took control of him,
wrenched him this way and that, then drained him out through the
head of his cock so that he experienced the strange knowledge that
he had, in fucking her, somehow become part of her and that he
would never again be a whole person without her.
"Will you let me go now?" she asked him when she knew he was
through. "This was partly my fault. I'm willing to forgive you.
I should never have listened to your crazy idea about revenge in
the first place. Please let me go. You've ruined me. Isn't that
enough for you?"
"No!" he whispered fiercely, his face in the misty cloud of
her blonde hair, his lips touching the perfumed rose petal of her
ear. "I'll never let you go. I haven't ruined you. I've begun
to make a real woman out of you, and I like what I've created. I
can't stop now."
"What else is there, then?"
"This." He fastened his mouth to hers and kissed her as she
had never been kissed. Again she struggled, but he held her
firmly, not desisting until her lips were puffed and swollen from
the contact, her tongue tingling from being sucked into his mouth
and caressed by his own tongue. When she was weak from lack of
breath and from her ineffective effort to break away, he lowered
his head to her breasts and began to work on her nipples. He
released his hold on her wrists to free his hand so that he might
stroke her body, tracing the curvature of her torso and a sweetly
rounded hip. His hand learned the shape of her thighs, feeling
for the tender, silken skin on their inner surfaces and coming at
last to her vulva, slick and greasy from his own semen, puffed and
sensitive from the violence with which he had entered her and from
the friction of his prick. He sought and found her clitoris. She
gasped when he touched it but made no effort toward further
resistance.
The seconds and the minutes ticked by, stretching toward a
half-hour before he gradually became aware that the arms he had
released now encircled his broad shoulders, that Evangeline's
breathing had increased in pace and that an occasional tremor ran
through the length of her body. He continued his artful
manipulation of her clitoris and felt her hips stir, tentatively
at first, then with a surer movement. Now she was rotating them
smoothly in time to the circular motion of his finger, uttering
small moans of pleasure. Her hand went to the back of his head,
pressing his face deeper into the perfumed opulence of her breast
and sighing with contentment when his teeth delicately nipped the
swollen, hard flesh of her nipple.
When she was writhing and twisting beneath him, half-sobbing
in a new kind of torment, he again mounted her. This time she
spread her legs, welcoming him. He was gentle with her, easing
his cock into her hot, wet, engulfing flesh. She groaned and
arched her back, her cunt begging for more of him, her hands
frantically digging into the cheeks of his ass to pull him into
her.
"Oh, God, yes!" she muttered. "Do it to me, darling! I love
you! Oh, God how I love you!"
"And I love you, too," Wikiwiki heard himself echo her,
wondering at the sound of the words issuing from his mouth. Never
before had he listened to himself say such a thing to a girl.
He wanted to come, but he held back, using all of his art to
induce an orgasm in her first. And he was rewarded for his
effort. At first he thought she was crying again and that he must
be hurting her. Then he realized that the low-pitched keening
that came from her was her song of passion, fitting accompaniment
to the wild, urgent dance of her hips and the frenetic, mad
drumming of her heels on the backs of his thighs. Her long,
scarlet-tipped fingernails dug into his muscle and, in the
insanity of her unbearable rapture, she bit his shoulder.
"I'm coming!" she screamed. "I'm coming, sweetheart! Fuck
me, darling! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, blessed Jesus!
Oh, blessed fuck!" Her voice trailed off in a prolonged groan of
anguish like the sound of an ambulance siren fading into the
night. Her body, bent like a bow, grew rigid and trembled, every
muscle undergoing a series of short, violent spasms. She relaxed
and came down to the bed as though she was slowly and languidly
drifting down to it from a great height. She was dimly aware that
his flowing tide had once more filled her cunt to overflowing, and
she lay there, a secret, knowing, happy smile on her face to feel
it running, first hot and sticky and then cool, down her thighs
and onto the cheeks of her ass.
When he would have pulled his dripping cock from her, she
held him with her hands, telling him not to take it out ... to
leave it in there always. She kissed him, and he thought the
taste of her lips as sweet as ginger blooms at midnight on the
slopes of Tantalus.
* * *
It was the following day before Elmer McFarthingale
discovered that his fiancee was no longer in the hotel. He had
supposed at first that she was simply in one of her frequent moods
and refusing to answer either her door or her room telephone.
When, in desperation, he unlocked the door and went in, the unmade
bed told the story as well as the note she had left. The sheets
were spotted with dried blood and stiff with the yellow stain of
dried semen.
The note was brief and explicit:
Elmer, you son of a bitch:
I'm leaving. Run your goddamned hotel any way you wish, you
stiff-necked, stuffy, fortune-hunting bastard.
Miss Barrington-Phaff
"Who?" Elmer muttered aloud. "Who the hell got her?
Longworth? No, he's still around. So there goes my love life and
the Barrington-Phaff millions down the drain. Come to think of
it, was the money really worth the price? I'd liked to have been
the guy who fucked her and made her like it," he thought
wistfully, "but I'm not sure I envy him if he's stuck with her.
Okay, Evangeline, my kooky ex-fiancee, I'll take you at your word
and run this place to suit myself. Maybe I can at least save my
job and my reputation as a hotel man." Feeling vastly relieved,
he went downstairs to his office and sent a bellboy to find Lynn
Charles and Kalola Kalikimaka.
After a conference that lasted two hours, Lynn left the
office with the new title of Social Director with a free hand to
use her own ingenuity in making the Hale-Kaahumanu the swingingest
hotel in the Hawaiian Islands.
Kalola remained.
"Are you really a top dancer?" Elmer asked her. "Forgive my
ignorance, but I'm new to the islands and--"
"Sure." Kalola grinned impishly. "I show you." Before the
startled hotel manager was aware of her intentions, she had jumped
up from her chair and divested herself of her muumuu. Naked but
for her long, glistening, black hair, she posed before him, her
brown body gleaming in the wan light of late afternoon. "This is
called 'The Dance of The Deflowered Maiden,'" she announced, her
hands touching in front of her and her feet beginning to shuffle
on the floor.
Elmer sat entranced, not understanding the language of her
talking hands but goggle-eyed as he drank in the beauty of her
bouncing, brown breasts and the play of her sensuously flashing
thighs.
"And this is called 'Tahitian Shimmy,'" she said, her hips
rotating in a blur of motion that made it appear they were on
well-oiled ball bearings.
"That dance is very good for getting male customers all
excited," she declared as the dance ended. "You think so, hunh?
Yes, you think so," she decided sagely as she went around to the
desk to sit on his lap and squeeze his steel-stiff cock through
his pants. "You were supposed to keep your eyes on my hands," she
chided him, "but I think you watch my titties all the time. You
like my titties, huh? Take your pants off, Mr. McFarthingale.
How can you fuck me with your pants on? I think you're cute."
Chapter 11
Lynn, Ellen and Kalola were gathered in Lynn's room.
"Everything has worked out just as Wikiwiki promised it would,"
Lynn was saying. "We've fucked ourselves into important positions
on the hotel staff, though his clever, conniving, Evangeline is no
longer here to dominate Elmer and dictate policy, and now, what
with the show Kalola and her troupe put on every night, plus the
fact that Ellen has gotten jobs here for every whore, professional
or amateur, on Maui, this has become the most popular resort hotel
in the South Pacific. We're sold out and have reservations ahead
for six months. Elmer showed me a letter this morning from Euclid
J. Barrington-Phaff praising the management to the skies. There
was a personal note at the end assuring Elmer that he had no cause
to worry concerning the breaking of his engagement with
Evangeline, that the old man has disinherited her and has no
further interest in her conduct or whereabouts. So I guess
everything is just dandy."
"The hell it is," Ellen replied glumly. "Without Wikiwiki
around, what fun is it? I miss him."
"We all do," Kalola agreed unhappily. She took a long,
reflective drag on the marijuana cigarette she was smoking and
passed the butt to Lynn. "Besides, this isn't the way it was
supposed to work at all. Wikiwiki was supposed to wind up as
manager of the hotel. Instead he vanishes and Elmer gets all the
glory. You don't suppose he's dead, do you?" she asked Lynn.
"I don't think so," the redhead replied. "I figure his
disappearance has something to do with Evangeline. To get her out
of our hair, he had to take her a hell of a long way from here
maybe. It's just taking him a long time to get back ... I hope."
"This whole caper has been more trouble than it was worth,"
Ellen declared. "I told you right from the first that the easiest
and nicest way for us to make a living was just to be whores and
maybe sell a little pot or 'L' on the side. I didn't mind going
along with it while we had Wikiwiki, but now we've lost him, too.
Gosh! Nobody fucks the groovy way he does. The Reverend
Longworth was pretty good, but Elmer ran him off after Evangeline
copped out."
"Well, we have to stay here and do the best we can without
him," Lynn declared loyally, "just in case he does come back."
The other two nodded in silent, sorrowful agreement.
* * *
It was on the following morning that Elmer came bustling into
Lynn's office, beaming with excitement and happiness.
"We got it!" he cried, waving a cablegram in the air as
though it were a triumphal banner. "We got it!"
"Got what?" Lynn asked mildly.
"The convention!" Elmer chortled. "See? This is from the
boss in New York. The old boy swung it, by George! We are going
to host the A.A. of S.P.M. convention. Do you know what that
means, Miss Charles? Why, this is one of the biggest convention
groups in the country. Every hotel from Florida to California has
been angling for it. If we handle this one successfully, we'll
become the top convention hotel in America. That's what it
means!"
"And what is the A.A. of S.P.M.?" Lynn asked.
"That is the 'American Association of Sanitary Papergoods
Manufacturers,'" Elmer burbled.
"Like scratch paper and paper cups?" Lynn inquired.
Elmer reddened. "Not exactly. As a matter of fact they make
toilet paper," he explained, "but they're just about the biggest
group in the whole U.S. Now here's what I want you to do. We'll
have the usual entertainment and activates, but to cap the climax
I want you to organize a luau just like the one you put on to save
the Pacific Paradise Hotel."
Lynn raised an auburn eyebrow. "Just like that one, Mr.
McFarthingale?"
"Why, of course. Now don't be modest, Miss Charles. I
wasn't there, unfortunately, but I overhead some of the kitchen
help discussing that affair one day and they agreed it was the
greatest thing that has ever been done in the islands in modern
times. You're really quite famous for it, you know. Can you do
the same thing here for the Hate-Kaahumanu?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so," Lynn said doubtfully, "if you're
sure that's what you want. All right, I'll get started with the
arrangements right away."
"Fine. Oh, by the way, I understand the A.A. of S.P.M.
members are inclined to be somewhat on the prudish and strait-
laced side, so perhaps it would be well to tone down the ... er
... bawdier aspects of any entertainment you schedule."
"Now why the hell doesn't he make up his mind?" Lynn muttered
to herself as Elmer went hurrying out of her office. "He sure
can't have it both ways."
She took her problem to Koko, who suggested that perhaps
Elmer had heard only an expurgated version of the Pacific Paradise
affair, and he therefore recommended that she keep it clean.
"Most of those guys will bring their wives," he told her,
"so, if I were you, I'd pass the word to Ellen to have her girls
lay off the married men and be discreet with the single ones."
"Sounds like it will turn out to be a very exciting
occasion," she predicted glumly. "Maybe I could put up a maypole
and let them dance around it, or we could have a taffy pull and
bob for apples. Get the whip out, Koko. I need a little
stimulation."
Grinning evilly, his wicked, little eyes gleaming, he took
the white leather whip from his dresser drawer as Lynn bent over a
hassock and pulled her dress up to reveal her ass, faintly
crisscrossed by fading marks from previous sessions of this kind.
"Lay it on," she commanded him. "I want to really feel it
this time." She suffered through the first dozen blows, waiting
patiently for her reward--the strange experience of mind expansion
and greatly increased awareness that came when the pain
diminished. He had doffed his trousers, and when she looked
around to see that his cock was stiff, she motioned for him to
stop. He sank to the carpet beside her and she rolled onto him
from the hassock, her open mouth receiving his throbbing prick.
She sucked him greedily, bobbing her head up and down so that her
lips touched every part of the shaft while her tongue danced
around the head.
"Do me in the ass," she begged him, reluctantly surrendering
his cock before he could come in her mouth. "God but I'm hot!
Fuck it into me hard, Koko."
He obliged her, his prick forcing its way through the
confining stricture imposed by her sphincter muscle. Because he
knew that was how she liked it, he was brutal and rough with her,
and her muffled groans of pain increased his own excitement. He
came too quickly to suit her, but she loved the hot gush of his
jism in her ass.
She thanked him and left the room to return to her office and
begin making plans for the convention. She drew up a tentative
list of activities, but it somehow refused to go right, and she
realized that it was hopeless in her present mood. For once, an
hour with Koko and his little white whip had failed to satisfy her
and calm her nerves. She found herself remembering Tony and
regretting his death. She also thought of Wikiwiki and regretted
his defection.
"Damn!" she exclaimed in vexation and left the office with no
particular purpose in mind. She crossed the busy lobby and went
out to the moist, tropical heat. She had walked through the
extensive and beautifully landscaped grounds for some time when
she came to a thick hedge, beyond which was the beach, the lazy,
creamy surf and, hazy in the distance, the low-lying island of
Lanai. The beach was crowded with tourists from the hotel, and
she thought for the thousandth time how utterly ridiculous they
looked in their Bermuda shorts, bright Aloha shirts and bikinis
with their soft, fat, white, elderly bodies revealed. Disgusted,
she turned away and walked along the hedge toward the snick-
snicking sound of hedge trimmers. The gardener was a big man,
burned black from the sun. She thought him quite the ugliest
human she had ever beheld. His muscular body glistened with
perspiration and his face was deeply scarred and puckered by the
ravages of some old disease. He glanced at her as she approached
and continued with his work.
"Hello," Lynn said, coming up to stand beside him. "I wonder
if you would do me a favor."
"Sure," he said, putting down the hedge trimmer and turning
to face her. "Whatsa mattah yo' need help fo'?" he asked
pleasantly.
"I would like very much to have you fuck me," she told him
calmly. "Over there under that pandanus tree looks like a good
place. No one could see us there from either the hotel or the
beach."
He stared at her with small, black eyes and absently
scratched at a mosquito bite on his ribs. "Yo' no make fun?" he
asked at last. "Yo' no kid?"
"No kid," she replied firmly. "Come on." She took his arm
and walked with him to the shade of the pandanus tree and began
removing her clothing. Not until she had stripped herself nude
did he apparently decide that he believed her, that this miracle
of the beautiful, white woman was, indeed, a fact. He wore only
trousers, and she had to help him unbuckle the belt. He was too
dazed to do anything but stare at the ripe, full, womanly body in
front of him. She knelt on the grass and drew his pants down to
his ankles, taking his big, soft prick in her hands and pressing
it to her check before she touched it lovingly with her red lips
and ran the tip of her tongue around the head of it. It grew,
swelling like a fat, black puff adder rapidly stiffening. She ran
her hands over his thighs and the cheeks of his ass. His body
smelled strongly of perspiration and old urine, and the stink of
him excited her.
"Hey, lady," he said, looking down at her from his gargoyle's
face. "Yo' maybeso gonna suck my cock, hunh?"
She smiled up at him. "Later, if you can do it more than
once. But I want you to fuck me first. Are you ready?"
He laughed good-naturedly. "Lady, I Old Moke. Ask any
wahine ... she tell yo' Old Moke do it all day, all night, too."
He dropped to his knees in front of her, gently pushed her over so
that she fell on the grass, then mounted her and began working the
bulbous head of his cock into her.
"No, no!" she protested. "Not like that, Moke. Like a bull
with a cow. Shove it in hard and all the way."
He grunted and heaved his heavy hips at her. Not even Tony
or Wikiwiki had been built like this, she thought, and she nearly
swooned with sheer delight as she felt the thing go into her like
a steel wedge bent on splitting her up the middle.
"That's it!" she sobbed. "Now fuck hell out of me! Pound me
to pieces, Moke! Punch the shit out of me with that woman-killer
of yours! Only make me come. Please make me come!"
"Yo' come," Moke promised as he continued fucking her. Five
minutes later, he was proved right. She came to an orgasm that
was so powerful it was almost like dropping from a great height
into a sea of warm soup. The sensation struck her suddenly,
engulfing her, swallowing her body and her mind, drowning her in
the luxury of exquisite rapture that was beyond mere ecstasy. She
gave herself over to it, letting the hot tide of it wash over her.
Above her, the colors of the trees, the sky and the profusion of
flowers ran together, not dimming but merging, flowing and
swirling into a kaleidoscopic montage ... like one of the
illusions claimed for LSD but which never really happen.
The orgasm faded, and her lust-glazed eyes came back into
focus as Moke, having shot a gargantuan glob of glutinous semen
into her, gave a final grunt and withdrew.
"That was beautiful!" she sighed. "It was simply beautiful!
I'm so glad I found you. Do you like making love to me?"
"Sure, lady," Moke said, grinning down at her. "Yo' moh
bettah fuck than any brown, wahine gal."
"Wonderful! I'll give you a key to my room. You come and
sleep with me whenever you want. Okay? Now I want to suck your
cock. I have to get back to my job, but we have time for that,
and for one more fuck afterward. You like to suck pussy?"
"Sure, lady," Moke said.
Later that afternoon, Lynn, feeling refreshed and renewed,
returned to her desk and worked out the program for entertainment
of the ones who would be guests during the coming convention. It
was going to be a sickeningly Milquetoast affair, she believed,
but was probably just what Elmer would want. She wondered if the
spirit of Evangeline, like a persistent and gloomy ghost, still
hovered over the head of the dapper, fussy little man, influencing
his policy. No, she decided, Elmer was naturally something of a
prude and a square in his own right.
For the following week she was so busy she hardly had time
for either Koko or Moke, but she had the satisfaction of knowing
that everyone else was as hurried and flustered as she. She had
to select the site for the luau, supervise the digging of the imu,
the pit in which the pig would be roasted, order decorations, food
and liquor, and engage another orchestra to relieve Kalola's group
so that they would have time off with no break in the festivities.
Kalola, she knew, was practicing like mad to learn the new
routines, the cleaned-up versions of the dances she had been
doing. Ellen, who through Lynn's influence, now had the title of
Head Dietitian, was busy in the kitchen and also busy keeping her
girls in line. Most of the waitresses were prostitutes who had
been making a lot of extra money on the side since coming to work
at the hotel.
It was the day before the convention people were due to
arrive when Elmer dropped the bomb. He again rushed into Lynn's
office clutching a cablegram. He was pale and distraught, his
hand trembling as he reverently placed the yellow sheet on her
desk.
"The old man!" he gasped weakly. "Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff
himself is going to be here for the convention. My God! Miss
Charles, are you sure that everything is all right? There will be
no slip-ups ... no booboos? Good Lord! I never expected--"
Lynn shrugged. "Sure. All is groovy. Why the fuss?"
Elmer threw his hands up. "Heaven help us if you're not
right. It all depends on you. You don't know Euclid J., or you
wouldn't wonder at my agitation. He's a perfectionist and a rigid
moralist. Let him find so much as a speck of dust on a potted
palm, or note the swish of a hip on a waitress, and he may have us
all shot at dawn. Join me in a moment of prayer that he hears not
one word of complaint from any guest. No, never mind praying. We
haven't time for that. We have to check and double-check
everything. Don't fail me, Miss Charles!" he begged as he rushed
from her office.
"Whew!" Lynn exclaimed. "No wonder Elmer doesn't have ulcers
... he gives them."
* * *
It was a three-day convention. The guests arrived on
schedule, ate, drank, played, swam, slept and were entertained
according to a schedule prearranged by Social Director Lynn
Charles. The first two days passed in the orderly confusion that
was to be expected and nothing--not one little thing--went wrong.
No wife surprised her husband in bed with one of the waitresses,
Kalola's dances were exotic and colorful without the least
suggestion of being erotic, and Elmer's pulse and respiration
lowered to within a few points of normal.
On the evening of the third and final day, an hour before the
luau was due to begin, Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff arrived by
private plane. Half an hour before the arrival of the great man,
all of Elmer's worst fears were realized, his world turned into a
nightmare of sheer horror. It began with the rumor that reached
him via the bellboy channel, that one of the women, the wife of a
conventioneer, had been caught on the beach being screwed by a
beach boy. Not one of his beach boys. Why, Miss Charles had
picked most of them for him herself!
When the next blow fell, he had no choice but to believe it,
for it was a thing he witnessed himself.
Ellen, busy making salads, had not been surprised when she
felt a warm hand slide up under her dress to caress her legs. She
was used to that in the kitchen. She didn't bother to look
around, sure it was either the cook or one of his helpers.
"Not now," she said. "There isn't time."
"Aw, fuck this damned convention!" It was the voice of the
chef. "Ever since this shit started I haven't hardly got any from
you at all."
"I know," she agreed sympathetically, "but I have to finish
these salads. Why don't you just lift up my skirt and do it to me
from behind? That way you won't interfere with my work."
"Okay," he replied and did as she had suggested.
Ellen went right on with her salad-making while the chef
hunched at her, his cock sliding in and out of her as she bent
over her work. She had a happy smile on her face when Elmer
walked into the kitchen.
Elmer screamed, the chef came in Ellen's cunt, and Ellen cut
her finger, all at the same time.
"What is the meaning of this?" Elmer screeched at them, his
horrified eyes bugged out beyond the bridge of his nose as he
stared at the chef's cock, now withdrawn and dropping from shock
but still dripping on the floor.
"I don't know what the fuss is all about," Ellen said mildly.
"We're supposed to be on our break right now anyway."
Uttering an unintelligible moan of anguish, Elmer rushed from
the kitchen. He ran all the way to Lynn's room. Ellen was Lynn's
friend. He wanted some explanation of the outrageous conduct he
had witnessed, but, more than that, he wanted reassurance. Kalola
was Lynn's friend and he remembered how the native girl had
practically tried to rape him in his own office. Never mind the
fact that she had very nearly succeeded. With friends like that
... He couldn't complete the thought. It was too terrible even
to contemplate.
He was so driven by the demon of doubt that he reneged on his
very proper, early training and forgot to knock. He opened the
door to a sight such as he had never expected to witness in his
rather narrow and stuffy lifetime. On Lynn's bed was a Hawaiian,
so big, so dark and so ugly he could only be one person ... the
gardener known as Old Moke. On top of Old Moke was Lynn Charles.
They were both quite nude, and it was apparent that Moke had his
cock in Lynn's cunt up to his ponderous balls. Standing over the
two of them, also naked, was Koko, the bell captain. In his right
hand was a white whip which he was industriously wielding, as
evidenced by the red welts on the very attractive ass of Miss
Charles.
Elmer fainted.
The participants in the orgy were not aware that he had come,
seen and gone quietly to sleep just outside the door of the room,
so they continued happily to enjoy themselves. Some other
servants found Elmer there, carried him to his room and revived
him. He sat up in bed, dismissed them and looked at his watch.
He had seventeen minutes before his boss was due to arrive. He
spent five of the seventeen minutes making a decision. It was not
a question of whether or not to fire the three girls ... only a
matter of when. What he would really like to do, he thought
savagely, was to roast them in the imu instead of the pig, but
that was impractical. Unfortunately, it was not even practical to
fire them immediately. No, in this case, expediency must rule the
day. He would pretend that nothing had happened. For, without
Lynn and Kalola, the whole thing, the days and days of frantic
preparation, would fall apart at Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff's
expensively shod feet. Having made his decision, he arose, combed
his hair, adjusted his tie and made sure his jock strap was firmly
in place. He then, chin up, went bravely to the airport.
Euclid Barrington-Phaff was what is sometimes referred to as
a solid citizen, although all two hundred fifty pounds of him was
not really solid. Around what had once been his waist, he tended
to run to blubber. Nevertheless, he was an imposing person, his
air of pompous dignity surviving even the bright green Aloha shirt
he wore and the shorts that exposed rolls of oyster-white fat
above each knee. He acknowledged Elmer's greeting with that
delicately adjusted mixture of dignity and joviality considered
proper when dealing with upper-echelon employees. On the short
ride to the hotel, he admitted that he was quite well satisfied
with the financial returns of his investment to date, but he saw
fit to remind Elmer that procuring the convention for the Hale-
Kaahumanu was a stroke that had been accomplished strictly in New
York.
"Yes, you're doing a fine job, I'm sure," he said, unbending
enough to place a fat, fatherly hand on Elmer's knee. "But you
worry me, my boy. You seem all tense and tight. Something
bothering you?"
"Oh, no, sir, nothing at all," Elmer assured him hurriedly.
"Everything's fine ... just fine."
Had Elmer at that moment been gifted with telescopic vision,
and had he been able to see across the few miles of sugar cane
fields and through the several walls that separated him from the
kitchen of the Hale-Kaahumanu, he might not have been able to
answer so glibly. As a matter of fact, he probably would have
fainted again. For it was at that moment that Ellen, piqued at
what she considered unjust condemnation, stood by the giant
punchbowl, dropping tablet after tablet of LSD into the fruity
mixture.
She had a smile of serene contentment on her pretty face.
Chapter 12
Elmer McFarthingale should have been pleased and greatly
relieved at the way things went, at least during the initial hour
of the luau. The food was superb, the two native orchestras
magnificent, and the series of singers and dancers outdid
themselves. Even the punchbowl was very popular, although neither
he nor the big boss sampled it, both being confirmed non-drinkers.
He had a bad moment when the time came to introduce Lynn Charles
to Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff, but the beautiful redhead looked as
fresh and sweet and as innocent as a sophomore, accepting the
hotel baron's compliments on the job she had turned out with
becoming grace and modesty. Elmer could hardly believe that she
was the same girl he had seen, less than two hours earlier,
astride a naked Hawaiian while a naked Japanese lashed her
fabulous fanny with a white whip.
Yes, Elmer should have been pleased, but he wasn't. Instead,
he was running scared. After the things he had witnessed in the
kitchen, and in Lynn's room, was there any limit to the
catastrophic possibilities germane to this perilous predicament?
Furthermore, although the big boss was apparently delighted with
the program, his fat face beaming with joviality, Elmer sensed a
strange and alarming mood that seemed to be slowly gripping the
guests. True, the punchbowl was liberally spiked with several
kinds of rum and brandy. But this was something more than mere
drunkenness. From the assembled throng of revelers he got the
distinct impression of a kind of lazy, dreamlike, to-hell-with-it-
anyway permissiveness, as though the bars of their inhibitions had
not only been lowered but had been cast entirely aside. He
noticed, for instance, that all the guests at the feast sat cross
legged on the ground in the style traditional at luaus, but,
whereas the women had begun the feast with skirts decorously
pulled down to hide their knees, most of them now had allowed the
hems to hike up until many thighs were bare nearly to the crotch.
He glanced nervously at his boss to see if the big man had
noticed, but apparently he had not.
A low stage had been erected at one end of the courtyard and
it was there that the entertainers had been performing. A change
in the tempo of the music drew the attention of everyone back to
the stage as though they knew by instinct that the next act was to
be the grand climax, the great finale for which all the other acts
had been mere preliminaries.
Elmer shuddered. Kalola! She wouldn't dare!
He allowed himself to breathe again when she came running
onto the stage to a fanfare of music. He saw that she was clad in
a full-length grass skirt, halter top and at least six flower
leis. The dance she did was one of the innocuous routines worked
out earlier. It was greeted with applause but with no mighty
ovation. Kalola smiled--and held up a small hand for silence.
Elmer saw that she was going to speak, and fear crept back to walk
with cold fingers up his spine. What was the little savage up to?
This was not part of the program. Oh, well, maybe no one would be
able to understand her anyway. Then she did the thing that
eternally baffles mainlanders ... she abandoned the patois she
most frequently used and spoke in clear, precise and perfectly
enunciated English.
"Thank you," she said simply. "The dance you have just seen
might properly be labeled a theatrical version of our native
dances and bears about as much resemblance to the real thing as
oatmeal mush does to poi. You've been a great audience and I
think you are entitled to view the Hawaiian hula-hula in its
original form, and in a way in which it has only rarely been done
since the days of Kamekameha The Great." She signaled the
orchestra and all of the instruments remained silent but for the
dull, hypnotic beating of the drums and the sharper, rhythmic
clatter of the hardwood sticks on gourds. She fumbled for a
moment behind her, then her halter top came off to be tossed off
the floor of the stage. Her brown, beautiful breasts bobbed free,
thrusting themselves out through the garlands of flowers that
decorated her bosom. Her feet began the shuffling dance and her
hands to move in the melting, liquid grace that is the soul of the
hula.
"McFarthingale, what is this?" Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff
demanded, his face purpling and his small, piggy eyes glowing with
rising indignation. "That dancer ... that savage ... she's ...
why, she's completely topless!"
Elmer's answer was drowned in a roar of approval from the
audience. They stamped and whistled and shouted. One of the men
yelled the old, burlesque call of encouragement. "Take it off!"
The others immediately took it up, and it became a chant, the
swelling thunder of which drowned out even the drums. "Take it
off! Take it off! Take it off!"
Kalola paused in her dance, regarded them quizzically with
tilted head, then she grinned and quickly unfastened the top of
her grass skirt. The flower leis followed it to the floor, and
she was gloriously and primitively naked before them, her bronzed
body gleaming in the murky, fitful light of the tiki torches that
illumined the courtyard. The roar of appreciation that went up
from the guests was deafening.
"Elmer!" Barrington-Phaff screamed, "do something about this
at once!"
"Yes, sir," Elmer screamed back and summoned the nearest
waiter. "Get up there on that stage and do something about this
at once!" he yelled in the man's ear, unconsciously repeating
Barrington-Phaff's own words.
The waiter, a Hawaiian, misunderstood his meaning. He had
been sampling the punch, too. He ran laughing onto the stage,
stripped himself of his white uniform and underwear and joined
Kalola in the dance she was doing, his frenzied movements causing
his cock to rotate like a majorette's baton.
"Oh, my God, no!" Elmer groaned, then manfully plowed and
elbowed his way through the crowd that had now gathered around the
stage. He made it and leaped up on the wooden platform,
attempting to seize the wildly gyrating waiter.
"Leave him alone!" someone shouted. A woman jumped up behind
him and began beating him on the back of the head with her
handbag.
Barrington-Phaff was no coward. Seeing his employee thus set
upon, he hurled his bulk stageward, knocking people right and left
with his huge belly and massive shoulders. He almost made it
before one of the men in the crowd tripped him and another one hit
him in the eye as he was going down. The hotel employees who were
professional servants--not the prostitutes, beach boys and bums
Lynn had influenced Elmer to hire--rallied to the defense of their
manager and of the big boss from New York. The ensuing donnybrook
now ranks in history as the only major engagement fought in the
South Pacific since the end of World War II. Like gladiators of
ancient Rome, the contestants battled it out in the arena of the
courtyard, and it must be admitted that the ladies of the A.A. of
S.P.M. acquitted themselves as well as their men. Even so, the
doughty warriors representing the toilet paper manufacturing
industry might have gone down to defeat had not Ellen and Lynn
arrived with reinforcements. When Ellen's chippies joined the
fray on the side of the guests, the outcome was decided. The
regular hotel men were routed and the victors sank wearily to the
ground to rest.
"For Christ's sake, look at that, would you?" one of the men
exclaimed weakly. He pointed to the stage where Kalola was flat
on her back and the waiter who had been dancing with her was atop
her, his cock plunging in and out of her in time to the beat of
one drum that still resounded.
"Let's all fuck!" one of the women yelled, the dope, the
excitement of the fight, and the sight of Kalola's public display
of raw sex, driving her to a pitch of reckless passion that would
not be denied. Eager cries of agreement were the response to her
suggestion, and the nearest man to her leaped astride her. She
helped him rip her dress off and unzip his trousers. His wife,
who had long coveted the body of his district sales manager,
pulled her skirt up to her waist and advanced upon that worthy
with lewd intent. She found him quite willing. In a matter of
minutes they were all at it. The remarkable thing about this mass
screwing was that, despite the confusion, not one husband
committed the social error of fucking his own wife.
Elmer McFarthingale opened one eye. The other was swollen
shut. The back of his head ached, and he would have raised a hand
to explore the egg-sized lump there, had not several hundred
pounds of bone, fat and muscle been lying on his arm. His left
leg was similarly imprisoned by the heap of inert bodies of which
his was apparently a member of the lowest layer. He looked about
him as well as he could and beheld a scene of utter devastation as
well as complete debauchery. Rolling and writhing among the
remains of the feast were the guests, all busily and happily
fornicating. Not far away, Lynn Charles crouched nakedly above a
groaning man. She had his cock in her mouth and was sucking it
avidly. On the stage, Kalola was still being fucked ... not by
the waiter who had danced with her. Near Lynn, Ellen Canfield was
on her hands and knees. One of the guests had his prick in her
ass. Every time he thrust into her she farted and he laughed,
seeming to find this musical type of intercourse hilariously
funny.
Elmer lowered his gaze and found himself staring at one
small, cold, unblinking eye that regarded him steadily with
chillingly baleful malevolence.
"McFarthingale," Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff said distinctly,
"you are fired."
"Yes, sir," Elmer answered ... and then he fainted.
* * *
The three girls disembarked from the inter-island plane at
the International Airport in Honolulu.
"It seems to me," Lynn said, "that this is where we came in
... only we had a little money then and now we're flat broke. The
plane fare cleaned us out. Suggestions anyone?"
"I guess I can always hitchhike out to the North Shore and
try living with the hippies," Ellen said, "but after all the fun
and excitement we've had, I don't think I could stand the quiet
life."
"We're not going to break up ... not after what we've been
through together," Kalola declared. "There are always some
sailors around the airport. Give me an hour and I'll have taxi
fare for us. We can go see if Joe Moto will let us have our old
shack back."
"Oh, to hell with it," Lynn vetoed this idea. "Let's just
start walking. Maybe you're right. Maybe good old Joe will give
us a break. Come on."
They walked half the distance before a Filipino truck driver
picked them up. They came at last to the Pacific Paradise Hotel
and climbed down from the load of cement sacks on which they had
been riding.
"It's good to be home," Kalola said. "Let's go see Joe."
They knocked several times before the door opened. There
before them, clad only in swim trunks, was Wikiwiki.
"Wiki!" they screamed in chorus and charged him. He went
down under the flying attack, offering only ineffectual resistance
to the kisses that showered onto his face and the hands that
clutched avidly at his crotch.
"Hey, quit it!" he managed to say at last as he sat up and
brushed them away like annoying flies. "For chrissakes let me
breathe!"
"What are you doing here?" they all asked in unison. "Why
did you desert us on Maui?"
"One question at a time," he countered, parrying another pass
at his genitals. "In the first place, I and my partner are the
new owners of the Pacific Paradise Hotel, and to answer a question
you haven't yet asked, your old Number Four is empty and waiting
for you. In the second place, I didn't exactly desert." They were
amazed to see him blush under his dark skin. "I sort of got
married."
"You what?"
"You heard him," another voice said as the former Miss
Barrington-Phaff entered from a bedroom door. "What he said was
that he got married ... and I'll thank you to unhand his cock."
Speechlessly, the three girl stared at the gorgeous bride who
wore nothing but a shorty nightgown and sandals.
"Yeh, we got married," Wikiwiki admitted. "Her papa disowned
her, but she had enough bread of her own to buy this joint from
Joe Moto. I've gone out of the beach boy business and into the
hotel racket. As a matter of fact, we plan to turn the Pacific
Paradise into the best damned whorehouse in the islands. We were
just waiting for you three to show up to help us get started. I
knew you'd come here. Without my brains, you were sure to screw
things up for yourselves at the Hale-Kaahumanu. You kids want in
on this deal?"
"You bet we do," Ellen answered for the others, "only no more
fancy schemes. I've said all along that fucking is the only safe,
sane and respectable way for decent girls to make a living."
"Don't worry about it," Evangeline assured her. "Wiki's
scheming days are over. You'll find some old friends of yours
here. Koko is to be the assistant manager. His wife took the
kids and went back to Japan."
"Oh, goody!" Lynn cried, clapping her hands together. "I
hope he brought his little white whip."
"And we were lucky to get Old Moke to come over as gardener,"
Evangeline went on. "Oh, yes, and there is one other. We have to
have a pimp. No decent brothel can operate without a pimp. This
one has become a drunk, and he's a nasty, dirty, lecherous old
man, but he'll be good at the job because he'll do anything for a
buck. Here he is now."
The three girls looked up to see a shabby, bearded figure in
the doorway. He had his hat in his hand and was standing there,
blearily eyeing Ellen with lustful greed.
It was Matthew Longworth.
"Well, we might as well get started," Kalola said, standing
up. "I saw a bunch of sailors down on the avenue as we came by."
"Before we get down to business," Lynn interrupted, "don't
you think this calls for a little celebration ... a sort of
combination homecoming and housewarming?"
"Like what?" Evangeline asked suspiciously.
"Oh," Lynn replied innocently, "I thought we might have a
sort of party out on the lawn ... like a luau maybe?"
The End
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