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?"
