GS-59


Young Girl Sex Club

By

Andrew Laird



Chapter 1

In the Hip Room there wasn't even elbow room, but no one seemed to mind.
There were many other attractions.  There was noise, confusion, smoke
(not all of it from tobacco) and the pungent smells of unwashed bodies,
stale beer, cheap wine and vomit.  There was long, unkempt hair, beards,
bare bellies above hip-huggers and bare thighs below abbreviated
miniskirts.  There were many dirty feet, both bare and sandaled, and
many grimy hands.

In one corner, where it squatted like the insane, plastic monster it
was, a jukebox taxed its mechanical lungs and electric vocal cords to
the utmost, bellowing out the frenzied beat of a rock group to make
itself heard above the witless, jabbering din that rose in a mad
cacophony from the crowd.

The final touch to this man-made inferno was supplied by multicolored,
wildly unsynchronized strobe lights that were strung along the low
ceiling.

No torture chamber devised for the specific purpose of driving its
hapless victims to madness could have compared in devilish ingenuity of
the Hip Room.

To Ellen Canfield, however, it was all very exciting.  It was her first
experience in a place if its kind and, although she felt both out of
place and somewhat frightened, she was enjoying herself immensely.  She
turned to convey this information to her escort, only to discover that
he had managed to slip away from her unnoticed.  She thought she could
see the back of his blond head through the haze of smoke and was
temporarily reassured.  She supposed he was trying to squirm his way
through the densely packed crowd to get drinks from the bar.  Vaguely
she worried about where he would sit when he returned.  The space he had
occupied on the bench at the long table beside her was now taken by
another person; whether man or woman she could not be sure, for all she
could see was the back of a head with its shoulder-length, brown hair.
He solved the matter of his sex by turning toward her, revealing a
bearded jaw and dull, glazed eyes of pale blue on either side of a
jutting, fleshy nose.

"Here," he said, "take a hit."  He offered her an inch of crudely rolled
cigarette, the end soggy from many lips.

"What is it?" she asked, drawing away and wrinkling her nose at the
acrid smoke.  She thought she knew but couldn't be sure.  She had never
before seen marijuana.  At least she was certain it did not resemble the
neat, filter-tipped cigarettes she smoked.

"Whadaya mean, what is it?" the man demanded indignantly.  "It's a
joint.  Whatcha think it is, hashish?"

She hesitated, revolted by the thought of that sodden butt between her
lips, yet afraid of offending the one making the offer.  She shifted
uncomfortably when he took his first good look at her, and his eyes
widened, then narrowed.

"Well, I'll be dipped in shit!" he exclaimed.  "Damned if it ain't Miss
Uptown herself.  Whatcha doing down here, baby doll ... little slumming
trip?"

Ellen blushed.  Under the flashing strobes it probably was not
noticeable, but she felt her flesh become hot, as though a blowtorch had
been turned on her.  The intensity of the hot flash rendered her
speechless and made her a little sick.  There was a terrible moment in
which the noise, the stench and her own fear hit her like a blow to the
solar plexus.  She wondered if she would faint.

The bearded man sneered knowingly.  "You fucking squares are a pain in
the ass," he said disdainfully.  "Come down here to see how the weirdos
live ... like going to the zoo to look at the apes.  Then you get all
shook if one of us speaks to you.  Whatsa matter, baby, you figure I got
leprosy or something?"

"I'm sorry," Ellen stammered drawing as far away from him as she could,
trying not to show her disgust or fear.  "I ... I didn't mean any harm.
I've never been to a place like this before, and I've never smoked
marijuana.  My boy friend brought me here.  He's gone for drinks ... I
think," she ended lamely.

The bearded man grinned, but it was not a friendly grin.  His eyes,
sparking now with interest, started at her feet and moved with slow and
calculated insolence up her nylon-sheathed legs to rounded thighs
visible below the hem of her miniskirt.  They rose to the slight curve
of her stomach and the contours of a sweetly crafted torso, revealed in
abundant detail by the form-hugging fabric of her knit dress.  They
lingered appraisingly on the twin bulges of her breasts, then rose to
her face, baby-round beneath the heaped meringue of her champagne-blonde
hair.  He read the unmistakable fear in her blue eyes and in the nervous
trembling of her soft, red lips.  "Whenever I see a chick like you," he
said with toneless menace, "all starched and ironed and strapped into
place, I get the damnedest urge to mess her up.  So you dreamed you went
slumming in your Maidenhead bra and in your Playsex girdle, did you?  I
gotta notion to pull them to hell off of you and see what you look like
with your titties flopping and your bare cunt hanging out."

Ellen gasped in shocked horror.  "You wouldn't!  You wouldn't dare!
This is a public place!  My escort will be back.  He'll ... he'll ..."

The bearded man laughed unpleasantly.  "You just said the wrong word,
you goddamned phony, antiseptic, perfumed bitch.  Nobody dares Max Kern.
Hey, look what I got here," he said to the others at the table.  "Smart-
assed cunt needs a lesson.  Watch for that blond square she was with
while I show this chick how we do it on Cool Street."

"No!  No!" Ellen screamed as Max Kern's long-fingered dirty hands
reached for her.  "Help me!" she appealed to a hard-faced girl her own
age who sat across from her.  The girl curled a pale upper lip and, to
Kern, said: "Why doncha take her down under the table and fuck her,
Maxy?  We'll cover for you.  When her boy friend comes back, we'll tell
him she split on him."

Ellen screamed again.  Not a head turned in her direction.  Screaming
was the normal method of communication in the Hip Room.  She tried to
fight, but her efforts were futile.  Not only was Max several times
stronger than she, but by this time she was so nearly paralyzed with
terror that all power had deserted her arms and legs.  He easily held
her arms pinned to her sides while his free hand went under the hem of
her dress to claw at her panties.  She felt the elastic give and then he
had drawn them down to act as a hobble around her kicking ankles.
Despite the fact that she held her legs clamped as tightly together as
possible, he thrust hard fingers into the tender flesh of her inner
thighs, violating for the first time the sacrosanct cleft of her crotch,
roughly parting the hair-shrouded lips of her vagina.

She continued to scream, even though she knew it was useless.  Those
around the table were laughing and leering at her.  Those in the rest of
the place ignored her.  As she felt Max Kern begin to slide under the
table and drag her with him, her sanity left her; she was bludgeoned
temporarily numb by the impossibility of what was happening to her.  She
was from a small town, and certainly no smarter than the average of her
sex and she knew--just as she knew that there is a President of the
United States, that the sun rises in every morning, and that Walter
Cronkite comes on every evening--that one does not get raped in a public
place among seventy or more people.  She knew that, but it was happening
anyway.  Her mind, therefore unable to cope with the impossible,
withdrew from the nightmare that was taking place, leaving her only
enough awareness to feel pain, shame and horror.

They were on the floor under the table.  Bare, willing feet found her
arms and held them with cruel pressure against the cement floor.  Her
resistance was instinctive but feeble and futile as her dress was tugged
and pulled until it was bunched under her armpits.  Her bra surrendered
to a savage jerk that tore the snaps loose and her panties were snatched
the rest of the way off of her weakly thrashing legs.  The cement was
cold and hard against her bare back and buttocks.  She had stopped
screaming and only cried in a continuous, sobbing bleat of mindless
terror.

 "How is it, Max?"  A bearded face appeared upside down under the edge
 of the tablecloth.

"Don't know," Ellen's attacker grunted.  "I ain't fucked her yet.  But,
man, she's got one hell of a body.  Dig them big boobies."

"Yeah," the upside down one agreed.  "You gonna suck her cunt, too?"

"Naw, not now.  She ain't in no condition to appreciate the finer
things.  Maybe after I've broken her in I'll take her up to my pad and
give her the full treatment.  Depends on how she acts."

"How about me taking seconds on her when you're through?"

"Sure.  She'll need a lot of screwing to tame her down.  We got all
afternoon.  Tell the rest of the guys, too.  Pussy just ain't much good
unless it's been gang-banged.  Keep a watch out for the guy she was
with."  As he talked, Max had been dropping his trousers.  He wore no
underwear.  He held his long, hard cock in his hand, fondling it
lovingly as he knelt between her legs and studied her hair-fringed slit.

"Okay, baby doll," he muttered as he lowered himself to her, "here's
where you get it ... right up to the balls!"  He addressed the dripping,
throbbing head to her opening and settled himself, his bearded lips
quivering with lust and his pale eyes glowing in anticipation as he
hesitated one last second to savor the creamy expanse of her beautifully
molded torso and the swelling mounds of her breasts with their pink and
brown nipples, the softly rounded contours tremulous with the agitation
of her sob-shaken body.  He pushed the broad, purplish bead of his prick
into her until it was lost to sight.  Then, with a long, almost
anguished "ahhh" of pleasure, he thrust down with all his strength,
driving the bone-hard instrument into her, relishing the exquisite
sensation of her flesh parting or tearing as it was shouldered aside by
his ruthlessly rapacious root.

Ellen screamed again, but the hard-eyed girl who had been across the
table from her was bending down so that she could watch.  Expecting the
scream, she effectively muffled it by putting a bare, dirty foot in
Ellen's open mouth.  She kept her foot there for a while, then
transferred it to one of the exposed breasts, roughly massaging it and
sometimes pinching the nipple with a prehensile big toe.  As she peered
under the uplifted edge of the tablecloth, her face was flushed; and her
eyes shining, her breath coming in convulsive gasps.  One hand was under
her skirt, her fingers frantically manipulating her clitoris.

Had Ellen looked about her, she would have seen not only the shapely
limbs of the hard-eyed girl, trembling to one self-induced orgasm after
another, but that the men at the table, inflamed by the vicarious thrill
of what they knew to be taking place right under their feet, had
unzipped themselves and were stroking their cocks.  They also cried
encouragement to Max.

"Fuck her, man!"

"Stick it to her, Maxy!"

"Ram it clear up into her goddamn fucking guts!"

But Ellen was not aware.  She knew only pain and, dimly, that she was
naked on the floor while a man raped her, that the virginity she had
cherished for nineteen years was being ravaged and destroyed, and that
her oneness with herself as an entity distinct from all others was being
annihilated.  Mostly she was aware of the plunging, piston-like prick
and the ruthlessness in which it battered her inner body, each thrust as
agonizing as though performed by a hot poker.  But even pain must
finally reach a plateau, must suffer a surfeit of itself until it fails
from overproduction.  It lessened.  She opened her eyes to the forest of
legs, feet and dripping pricks as seen through the fringe of Max's
rancid-smelling beard.  As a child she had had nightmares, but none to
compare with this atrocious and impossible scene.  She had two choices
... either go completely insane with fear, or withdraw in a kind of
stunned indifference and patiently await the moment when this
Phantasmagoria would end.

Too tough-minded to go crazy, she lapsed into state of semi- catatonia
in which what was being done to her body became a dim, unreal and
distant thing.  Her mind, detached from both pain and the shame of
involvement, was free to consider her surroundings with curiosity.  She
saw the foot that massaged one of her breasts and followed up the slim,
unclean limbs to parted thighs and gaping vulva where busy fingers
agitated the clitoris hidden beneath the moist, pink flesh.  She could
even see the hair-shrouded, brown eye that was the girl's anus; it
winked in time with the gasping of her pulsating vagina.

Ellen was familiar with masturbation.  She had experimented with it
during her twelfth year, but it had been her favorite sport only until
she learned to play tennis.  She tore her eyes from the performance of
this rite to look from one to another of the men who were playing with
the pricks under the table.  Only once before in her life had she seen a
man's prick, and that had been just before leaving home.  She had walked
in on her brother while he was in the bathroom.  He had been busy
urinating, and she had stared at his exposed organ for a second in both
dismay and fascination before blushing violently and fleeing from room.
That night she had dreamed that he carried a large snake coiled between
his legs and was chasing her with it.

She next looked down to see Max's white buttocks bobbing above her hips
and realized with astonishment that he had a cock just like those other
men and that he was industriously sloshing it in and out of her.  He was
no longer hurting her.  Her body, having turned numb, had rejected the
pain.

Ellen did not know when her boy friend came back from the bar, a bottle
of beer in either hand.  The ones at the table informed him seriously
and sympathetically that his girl had gotten sick, had said she was
going home.  The closely pressed bodies about the table prevented him
from seeing what took place beneath it and Ellen had stopped screaming.
She was no longer even crying.  The young man's face turned red and he
cursed.  As he put the bottles on the table and began elbowing his way
toward the door, the conspirators laughed, nudging and clapping each
other on the back as they congratulated themselves on the success their
deception.

At that moment, Max had his orgasm.  The cadence of his probing
increased, and he grunted loudly, emitting other animal noises as Ellen
felt his hot sperm shoot into her and slush out to roll down her thighs.
She watched with mild interest as he withdrew, noting that his cock was
smeared with his own semen and red from her blood where he had torn her
hymen.

"You ain't a bad fuck," he admitted, panting, "only you got a lot to
learn.  I'll let some of the other guys help break you in and then maybe
I'll take you to my pad tonight.  You act right and I'll let you stay
with me until I get tired of you, but you got to start dropping acid and
smoking pot like the rest of us.  Hey, Joe, give me a tab of 'L'."

He accepted something from an anonymous hand that appeared under the
table and he told Ellen to open her mouth.  She did and felt a small,
white tablet being inserted by a grimy finger.  She was instructed to
let it melt on her tongue.  "When that hits you, you'll be on a helluva
trip," he promised.  "I'm gonna let Benny screw you now.  He's kinda
queer, but he likes chicks, too.  After Benny, some of the other cats
will take a crack at you.  How you dig getting fucked, hunh?  Groovy,
ain't it?"

She regarded him dumbly and didn't answer.  She was in a state of shock,
her body and mind no longer able to respond to either pain or fear.  Had
he told her she was free to get up and go home, she would not have
stirred from her place on the floor.  Only a part of her mind remained
active, but her thoughts were remote, barely connected to body.

Max shrugged indifferently, pulled his pants into place and slid out of
her range of vision as another bearded man, a somewhat younger one, took
his place.

"Boy!" Benny exclaimed, viewing her with awe.  "You're sure a lot
prettier than the chicks we usually get around here."  He bent to kiss
her on the mouth, the soft, blond hairs of his beard woolly and somehow
comforting against her face.  He roughly pushed aside the girl's foot,
which still rubbed Ellen's breast, and cupped the mound with his hand.
Then he felt down over her ribs and hip to caress her white, rounded
thighs and touch her semen-moist vulva.

"I'm gonna suck your cunt," he declared, his face twitching with
excitement.  "I'll bet you'll like that."  He turned around so that his
head was even with her hips, then reached back to adjust his cock so
that it rested above her breasts.

"I guess you ain't used to sucking cocks," he told her, "but you can
hold it and play with it for me while I'm going down on you.  Hey, you
cats, get your feet off of her arm."  He knocked the dirty feet away and
Ellen, for the first time, was able to relax from the awkward position
she had been in.  She made no protest when he took her hands and cupped
them around his prick.  Because he told her to, and because she had no
will of her own, she continued to hold his member tightly as he lowered
his mouth to her crotch.  The lapping of his tongue was so mild a
feeling compared to being punched and torn by Max's big cock that at
first she was hardly aware of it when he began titillating her clitoris.
His hips moved and his prick, already dripping and smeary, slid easily
back and forth in her tight grip.

He took his time, and she didn't mind.  Now that the feet no longer
pummeled and imprisoned her, she was fairly comfortable and his licking
and sucking at her vulva was soothing.  Furthermore, something new was
happening to her mind.  She was beginning to be affected by the drug she
had taken.  It was like drunkenness and yet not like it.  There was a
dizziness and a lightness, almost as though she were floating, and a
gradual increase of sharpness and clarity in her perception of
everything about her.  It was, she thought with dull curiosity, as
though she had donned glasses that magnified everything.  Her face was
only a few inches from the young man's thighs, and she suddenly saw each
hair and pore in vivid, microscopic detail.  Her other senses were also
greatly increased.  The rich, mingled smells of semen and sweat assailed
her nostrils, and his prick was like wet, slick satin to the touch of
her hands.

As he continued to lick her clitoris, she felt the first, faint tingle
of returning sensation to her lower body.  She was sore from the brutal
way in which Max had assaulted her, but the richness of feeling inspired
by the eager tongue of her new lover was driving away remembrance of
pain.  Her mind still refused to tolerate the shame and humiliation of
her position.  It blocked it out as a thing too awful to bear and, as
she began to derive pleasure from this new thing that was happening to
her, she concentrated on that to keep from thinking about the fact that
she was being raped in public.  To save her sanity, she surrendered her
body, the powerful dose of LSD she had taken helping her make this
adjustment.

The slobbering attack on her sex organ was accomplished with ravenous
hunger and much enthusiasm, but not without expertise.  Benny Morely had
practiced the art extensively on both men and women.  At twenty-one he
had achieved his ambition to become a complete degenerate, living only
for sex ... any kind of sex, and for dope ... any kind of dope.  Oddly
enough, he was a sensitive and generous person who would eagerly share
himself or anything he had with someone he liked.  He liked Ellen, so he
gave to her in the only way he knew how to give.  He employed all of his
cunning to the pleasurable task of sucking her clitoris and was
childishly delighted when he felt her straining body begin to respond to
his efforts.  He would really have preferred sucking a man, but licking
Ellen's semen-filled cunt was almost as good as sucking Max's cock and,
of course, there was the fun of doing it with someone new.

The tingling sensation grew to a flooding warmth of passion that spread
out from the one focal point to Ellen's entire body.  She felt it in her
thighs and in her groin, knew it in the hardness of her nipples and in
the straining muscles of her back as she arched herself to his mouth.
It wrapped her in a pink mist that shut out everything else, and she
gave herself to it gratefully.  She even enjoyed the sensuous feel of
his cock sliding back and forth through her hands.

When her passion had reached a height she would not have thought
possible, it suddenly soared beyond that and then her hips were jerking
convulsively, her pretty, white legs thrashing madly and her body
pulsing with a paroxysm of lust as she came to her orgasm.

At the same time, Benny's prick swelled, strained, and then began to
spurt, the hot, sticky stuff squirting onto Ellen's lower face and neck.
Their cries of pleasure, too intense to bear in silence, went unheard
above the din of the Hip Room.

"Hey, get your nose out of it, you queer bastard!" another voice was
saying and Benny was pulled roughly away from her as another man took
his place.

Ellen, still in a daze of post-coital lassitude, made no resistance when
her legs were spread and another cock was thrust into her body.  It
hardly hurt at all, and she accepted the burly, sweat-smelling weight on
her chest and belly, wrapping her arms and legs around him and lifting
her hips to meet his lunge, her whole being concentrated on trying to
recapture the exquisite sensation she had just experienced with Benny.

They kept her there under the table all afternoon, taking turns with her
until all of the men in the group had been with her at least twice.
They let her rest only long enough to take frequent drags from marijuana
cigarettes.  By evening she had passed out, but they didn't mind,
continuing to sate themselves with use of her inert body.  She was not
aware when the girl with the hard eyes slid under the table to make love
to her just as Benny Morely had done.

Ellen awoke in the small hours of the morning.  She was lying on the
filthy mattress in a strange room beside Max Kern, who snored like the
distant whine of a power saw into his beard.  They were both naked.  She
sat up and saw a candle in the dim light of the room.  She found matches
and lit it, staring at the yellow spearhead of flames as she let memory
invade her mind, bit by bit until all of the astonishing facts were
present and accounted for.

The one thing she saw with absolute clarity was that her adventure had
changed her life utterly and irrevocably.  She knew there was nothing to
prevent her from getting up, dressing and going home to her apartment.
There she could bathe, have breakfast, put on clean clothes and report
to work as usual.  No one would ever know.  Oh, but they would!  She
would know!  Ellen Canfield would no longer--could no longer--be the
Ellen Canfield who had smugly thought of herself as a nice, virtuous,
nineteen-year-old girl from a respectable, small-town family.  The only
thing that amazed her was that she could find within herself not even
the tiniest spark of regret for the demise of that other Ellen Canfield.

She looked at Max's thin, knobby-kneed body sprawled beside her in the
steady light of the candle.  She remembered again what he and all of his
friends had done to her under the table in the Hip Room.  Her hips moved
and she felt the nipples of her breasts harden with returning
excitement.  She took his limp cock in her hand and began stroking it.
When it was hard, she tugged on it to awaken him.

"Hey, Max," she said, jerking at him, "wake up and fuck me again."

Chapter 2

Lynn Charles picked up the newspaper from the coffee table where her
brother-in-law, Sam Dryerson, had dropped it the evening before.  It was
an act of desperation.  She normally avoided reading newspapers.  She
turned to the comics, then the women's section.  She was about to toss
the paper back down when her attention was caught by a picture of a
young girl.  She was an amazingly pretty girl, Lynn thought, even though
she had done her best to disguise the fact with long, straight hair,
flowered, bell-bottomed pants, a sweater so tight it made her look like
a tart, and a medallion that dangled in such a way as to call even
further attention to her large bust.  It was a human-interest story
about what the reporter had called a "hippie love-nest tragedy."  It
seemed that one Maxwell Kern had died from an overdose of drugs, and a
sexy picture of his teen-aged mistress could be calculated to sell a few
newspapers.  The girl, Ellen, had refused to cooperate by looking either
tragic or regretful.  She merely looked bored.

"At least she's alive," Lynn muttered aloud, "not half-dead and stuck in
a no man's land like this."

The no man's land was the rather modern and comfortable home of her
older sister, Shirley Dryerson.  Her own "half-dead" condition was a
slight exaggeration.  She was simply bored, lonely and, in general, full
of discontent with life.  At twenty-six, Lynn had taught school for five
years and had been married for three.  On the day her divorce had become
final, she had been notified by the school board that they did not
intend to renew her contract as a teacher for the coming year.  When
Shirley and Sam had offered to take her in while she made the adjustment
to her new, sharply reduced status, she had accepted gratefully.  Now
she found herself wishing she had done almost anything else than run
scared through the first door opened to her.

The trouble was, she conceded bitterly, that Shirley and Sam both worked
days and had no social life evenings.  That left Lynn exactly nowhere.
The rest of the trouble was, she admitted, that she, Lynn Charles, was a
sissy who didn't have the nerve to go to a cocktail lounge, get herself
picked up, taken to a hotel room and thoroughly screwed, which, of
course, was what she really wanted and missed most of all.

"Goddamnit!" she cursed in a way that would have shocked the school
board as much as her divorce had shocked them, "what the hell does a
divorcee with hot pants do anyway?"  It was a good question and Lynn
wasn't the first grass widow to ask it without receiving any ready
answer.  It was midmorning.  She had washed the dishes and cleaned the
house.  What now remained as a means of passing the next six hours until
Shirley and Sam came home to eat the dinner she would prepare and then
watch television until the late-late show?  Lynn hated television as
much as she despised newspapers.  She could, she supposed, take a bath.
Hardly an exciting prospect, but it would kill an hour.

She undressed in the bathroom, performing the unnecessary ritual of
weighing herself.  While the tub was running, she studied her nude
reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
She was a redhead who had miraculously escaped the redhead's curse of
freckles.  Her skin was a golden bronze all over, for, on the few fog-
free days of the San Francisco summer, she took full advantage of the
Dryerson sun deck at the rear of the house.  She had green, slightly
slanted eyes and a mouth that made up in sensuality for its somewhat
overly generous proportions.  She was tall and slender, but it was a
healthy thinness, not the emaciated slenderness of a fashion model.  Her
breasts, while not large, were ideally shaped, the magenta nipples
delicate and small.  Her waist was narrow, her body flaring below it to
womanly hips and tapering again to sweetly rounded thighs at the
juncture of which was an arrowhead of auburn hair.

"Not bad," she murmured, "but what the hell good is it to me if I don't
use it?  Somewhere in San Francisco there must be a man who would dearly
love to get my clothes off, play with all my goodies and then stick his
big, fat, lovely cock in my pussy and bang hell out of me until I yelled
for mercy.  They have college courses in home economics, the modern
dance and even karate.  Why don't they have one on how to get fucked?"

She sighed and stepped into the tub, settling herself in the sudsy
water.  She allowed the warmth and the quiet to induce a lassitude that
soon verged on sleep and made no effort to dispel an erotic fantasy that
began to weave its way through her half-awake mind.  She snapped back to
consciousness when she became aware that in the midst of her imaginings
she had allowed one hand to drift to her crotch and that she was gently
massaging her clitoris.

"Good grief!" she gasped, sitting upright in the tub.  "I haven't done
that since I was fifteen!  Oh well, what the hell?  It does feel good,
and if I'm going to be an old maid I might as well go the whole route."
She lay back down and again put her fingers to her vagina.  With the
other hand she touched one of her nipples and experimentally rubbed it
with the tip of a finger.  Not like having a man's hand or mouth there,
but better than nothing.

Lynn was so preoccupied with the new method she had found to entertain
herself that she failed to hear the front door open or the sound of
masculine feet on the carpeted floor of the living room.  She was not
aware that she was no longer alone in the house until the bathroom door
was shoved open.

"Oops!" Sam exclaimed as he hastily backed out.  "Sorry, Lynn, but the
door was unlocked and I had to go."

"It's okay," she called out.  "What are you doing home this time of
day?"  She was startled but not particularly embarrassed.  Nothing but
her head and knees had shown above the soapy water, and she was thankful
that he had not been able to see that she had been masturbating.
Nevertheless, she was trembling a little as she got out of the tub,
hastily dried and wrapped a towel around her body.  "All clear," she
said.

"I came home for some business papers," Sam said as he started to pass
her.  "I should have ..."  His voice dwindled, and he stopped in front
of her.  His expression changed abruptly at sight of her standing there,
unclothed but for the towel.  His face registered shock and the
beginnings of desire.

"Lynn, I ... I ..."

She was as shocked as Sam, but mostly at the wild, unprecedented
thoughts that were surging through her mind.  She blushed furiously.
Nothing would have happened had she not, in turning to slide past him,
let the towel slip so that it fell to one side.

He took it as an invitation.  Looking back on it afterward, she couldn't
blame him, couldn't be sure that some subconscious impulse had not
caused her to drop the towel.  She struggled in his arms, though,
telling him to stop and that they couldn't do this because he was
married to her sister.

"What the hell has Shirley got to do with it?" he muttered, kissing her
and holding her tightly, one hand falling to her buttocks.  "I want you,
Lynn.  Damnit!  I've wanted you since the day you first came here.
Shirley will never know."

"We mustn't," she insisted, but despite herself she found that she was
grinding her hips against him, feeling the hardness of his cock through
his pants and knowing that she was so weak from desire that she could
never resist him.  When he bent his head and took one of her nipples in
his mouth, she was lost ... lost beyond any hope of recovery and she
didn't give a damn.  Nothing mattered now except having him.

Her bedroom was across the hall, and he took her there with no
resistance on her part, took her there and fell across the bed with her.
He kissed her breasts, her stomach and her thighs, fumbling all the time
with his belt until he had his pants down.  Then he mounted her,
punching his hard prick in ineffectual haste at her crotch until she
took it in her hands and guided the head of it to her opening.  It went
in as smoothly as though they had been doing it with each other every
day.  She wrapped her long, lovely legs around him, pulling him even
deeper into her.

"Now fuck me!" she commanded, her whisper hoarse and urgent.  "Oh, fuck
me, Sam! "

"Yes," he agreed, "this is what I want, Lynn.  Oh, Lynn, honey, I've
thought about you all day, every day for months.  When I make love to
Shirley, I'm screwing you."

"Hush," she told him.  "Just fuck me.  I love your cock inside of me."

"Suppose I get you pregnant?"

"I don't give a shit.  Just fuck me, damnit!"

They did it quickly and convulsively.  Both were in such a rage of
sudden passion for each other that they came, almost together, in a
matter of moments.  The roaring beat was like the crashing finale of a
great orchestra, and their movements on the bed were wild and jerky as
they strove with mad desperation to merge their bodies.  She nearly
fainted with delight as she felt his hot cum fill her, and her own
orgasm was a tearing, rending, destructive thing that seemed to demolish
her as though a bomb had exploded in her womb.

"My God!" Sam exclaimed when he lay exhausted and shaking on top of her.
"I never knew it could be like this.  I had girls before Shirley, but
they were nothing compared to you--and neither is she."

"I thought you loved Shirley."

He shrugged.  "I suppose I do.  At least I'm used to her.  Frankly,
Lynn, Shirley and I bore hell out of each other.  She's a dud in bed.
I'd like to experiment around a little, but she's a damned prude.  I've
never done anything out of the ordinary but, for Christ's sake, I know
there's more to it than just screwing.  She won't even talk about it."

Lynn was interested.  She had read some books on the subject, but had
been unable to arouse an equal amount of interest in her own husband.
She suspected that, like Shirley, he was a prude.  "Tell me about those
things," she urged Sam.

He looked embarrassed.  "They're hard to talk about.  If you're willing,
we could just go ahead and do them.  Are you willing, Lynn?"

"Why not?  No use worrying now about whether what we're doing is right
or not.  We might as well live it up.  Do you have to go right back to
the office?"

"No, I can think of some excuse later.  I'm getting another hard just
talking about ... you know what.  I want to kiss your pussy.  I've
always wanted to do that to a girl, but I've never had the nerve before
to ask."

"Be my guest," Lynn said with a nervous laugh, "but shouldn't you get
undressed?  I'd like to see the rest of your body."

"All right."  He stripped off the remainder of his clothes and returned
to the bed.  He petted her, letting his hands learn the excitingly
sculptured contours of her thighs.  She, in turn, took his cock in her
hand and stroked it, loving the slippery feeling of pre-orgasmic semen.

"Now," he said.  "I hope you like this, Lynn."

"Don't worry about me.  I just hope you like doing it to me.  It must be
a lot like masturbation.  That was what I was doing when you came in the
bathroom.  Your timing was terrific, Sam.  That was why I was so hot I
couldn't say no."

"I'm glad," he murmured as he slid down on the bed and turned around to
bury his face in her crinkly patch of auburn hair.

She spread her legs for him, excitement mounting in her as she felt his
mouth and tongue on her vulva.  "Oh, yes!" she cried, "it is good.  It's
a lovely sensation.  Suck my clitoris, Sam.  It's so wonderful I can
hardly stand it!"  Her head was pillowed on his leg and she had her hand
on his cock, its blind face with the tiny, gaping mouth only inches from
her nose.  She could smell her own body musk, a strangely compelling
perfume.  Impulsively she moved forward so that the round, reddish head
touched her lips and then, urged on by a compulsion she had not
anticipated, she opened her mouth and let the next thrust of his hips
shove the satiny shaft between her teeth.  Once it was in her mouth she
sucked eagerly to engulf more.  She was not satisfied until the head of
it was at the back of her throat.

Sam's efforts, while somewhat inept, lacked nothing in enthusiasm.  He
drew the soft, membranous flesh into his mouth and licked furiously at
her clitoris, his hands delighting in the spongy flesh of her buttocks
as he drew her closer to him.

Lynn knew that she had been right only in part--it was like
masturbation, but a thousand times better.  His avid tongue was driving
her toward another quick orgasm, and she didn't want it that way.  She
wanted it to last and last because she wanted to go on sucking his cock
as long as possible.  My God, she thought.  What I've been missing!  To
hell with living here like a damned troll in a cave.  Tomorrow she'd go
out on the town and suck every cock she could find!

She held back from the impending orgasm, but that only served to
increase the inferno of passion that stormed in her, the strain on
tortured nerves and on a body that longed for release.  Clutching each
other tightly, they twisted and turned, undulating on the bed like an
oddly shaped monster with legs on both ends, and they uttered blubbery
sounds as of anguish.  Then she felt his prick swell in her mouth and
knew that he was about to come.  She let herself go, wanting to scream
with the sweet agony of it, yet not able to because her mouth was full
of cock and was filling faster than she could swallow with the ambrosial
stuff that gushed from him.  She nearly choked, but managed to get it
all down her throat; then it was over.  Still they clung to each other,
neither willing to admit that it had ended.  As their bodies jerked in
ever diminishing spasms of dying lust, they continued to suck each other
hopefully until at last they realized that they could expect no more.

Sam sat up and turned around, and they lay with their arms about each
other, murmuring endearments and kissing.

"I'll get a divorce from Shirley," he told her.  "You'll marry me, won't
you?"

She looked at him, startled.  "Of course not!  I'm not in love with you,
and I wouldn't think of breaking up my sister's home.  What we're doing
is bad enough without that."

"But I can't do without you.  All right then, if you won't marry me, at
least live here with us always, and we can find chances to do this.
After having you, I can't stand going to bed with Shirley."

Lynn shook her head.  "No, Sam.  This has been fun, and it was just what
I needed, but we can't get away with it forever.  She'd be bound to find
out before long.  Besides, I'm not going to be true to you.  I want
other men now ... lots of other men.  I'd like to suck all the cocks in
San Francisco!"

He was shocked and said so.  They argued awhile, but then the lure of
each other's bodies proved too great, and before long they were back at
it again, sucking each other greedily.  It took them longer and left
them more exhausted than before, so tired, in fact, that they went to
sleep that way.

*     *     *

A sedan pulled into the curb a block from the Dryerson home.  The man at
the wheel turned to the blonde girl beside him and would have put his
arm around her, but she moved away from him.

"Not here, Bob," Shirley Dryerson said.  "Some of the neighbors may be
watching.  You're a glutton.  We've done it twice since we left the
office.  I love these afternoons when the boss goes to see his mistress
and we can sneak out early, but let's don't spoil it by getting caught."

He laughed.  "Yeah, I love them, too, but they aren't enough for me,
Shirley.  Christ!  I can't ever get enough of you.  When are you going
to divorce that guy and marry me?"

She shrugged.  "Don't be impatient, honey.  Sam won't be easy to
divorce.  I don't think he's got enough guts to do anything to give me
grounds.  I've got my sister staying with me.  You should see her, Bob.
She's beautiful and so hot she'd screw anything with a cock.  And do you
think that stupid husband of mine makes passes at her?  Hah!  He acts
like she was part of the furniture.  Would I ever like to catch them
together!  I'd take him for the works, believe me."

"Okay," Bob replied grudgingly, "but don't make me wait too long.
Nobody can see this.  At least, goddamnit, let me get another feel."  He
put his hand under her thigh and worked it by the leg of her panties to
touch her moist, warm crotch, and then slid it further under her and
into the cleft between her buttocks to run his middle finger its full
length up her anus.

"Don't, Bob!" Shirley gasped.  "You know what that does to me.  Quit it
or I'll make you take me back to that motel and fuck me in the ass
again."  Her body was tense and her face showed the strain of the
lustful emotions that rampaged through her.  "Tomorrow night!" she
whispered fiercely.  "I'll try to get away for a while tomorrow night!
I'll try to think of some excuse.  Oh, Bob!"  He still had his finger in
her ass and had bent his head to her lap, pulling aside the nylon of her
panties and running his tongue into her vulva until it touched her
clitoris.

"Now stop!" she commanded sharply and pulled away from him again.  "Meet
me at the usual place tomorrow night."  Then she slipped out of the car
and trotted up the sidewalk.  She looked back once to see the grimace of
chagrin and frustration on his face before she hurried on to her house.

The front door was unlocked, so she went in without knocking and was on
her way to her bedroom when she heard a noise that caused her to look in
the open door across the hallway from the bathroom.  She stopped,
stunned with surprise at what she saw.  Lynn and Sam lay naked on the
bed.  Sam snored gently into Lynn's crotch and his limp cock was in
Lynn's mouth.  Shirley gazed upon this entrancing scene for several
moments, a wide smile on her lips.  It couldn't, she decided, have been
more perfect if she had staged it herself.  Then she wiped the smile
from her face and, setting herself for the effort, she screamed at the
top of her lungs.

*     *     *

"It's better this way," Sam told Lynn at the airport the next day.  "You
go on to Honolulu until Shirley cools down.  She'll want a divorce, of
course, and getting it all settled will be messy.  I'll join you there
as soon as I can.  That's your flight they're calling.  'Bye, darling.
See you soon."

She kissed him lightly and turned to the counter where an airline
employee was validating tickets.  The girl ahead of her in the line
seemed vaguely familiar, but Lynn supposed she must be mistaken.  She
had to admit, rather regretfully, that she didn't know any hippies.
Then the girl turned and Lynn saw her profile.  Of course!  This was the
girl in the newspaper ... Ellen something-or-other.  What a coincidence
that they should be going to Hawaii on the same plane.

She wondered if they would sit together.

Chapter 3

Her stage name was Kalola Kalikimaka.

She was billed at The Polynesian Paradise night club as an exotic fire
dancer from Samoa, daughter of a chief.  She was neither the daughter of
a chief nor a Samoan.  Her real name was Mary Kulihi and she had been
born in the Palmyra, the old tenement district of Honolulu where her
mother, a stout, good-natured Korean woman, ran a home laundry, and her
father, a fat, happy half-Hawaiian, sat on the rickety front porch in
the shade of the bougainvillea and drank beer.

Kalola was a very good dancer, as she certainly should have been.  She
had started practicing when she was four.  She was also a very homesick
little girl, as are all natives when they leave the islands of their
birth.  But Kalola could put up with being homesick because she was in
love.

Jimmy Murphy was an American sailor, five years older than Kalola's
eighteen.  He was stationed on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay and,
being a yeoman in the executive office, rated liberty every night, a
fortuitous circumstance that made it possible for he and Kalola to live
very happily together in sin.  He tended to be a bit vague on the
subject of marriage and their future, but Kalola never doubted for one
moment that they would eventually marry.  Until he had seduced her, she
had been an entirely innocent girl and, in her heart, she still was, for
a childlike simplicity and sunny disposition were a natural part of her
mixed racial heritage.

Except for the annoying presence of Herb Drew, night club manager, she
liked her job.  Herb, a darkly handsome man of forty, considered all
female entertainers at the club as primarily there for his personal
benefit and enjoyment.  He usually succeeded in bedding them, but his
best efforts had been of no avail with Kalola.  In desperation, he had
even forced his way into her dressing room while she was changing and
had held her by brute strength while fondling her breasts.  Kalola had
bided her time until he had relaxed his hold, then had brought a knee up
forcibly into his crotch.  For nearly a week after that, Herb had seemed
to lose all interest in sex and had walked about backstage like a man
riding an invisible horse, while glowering and muttering darkly at
everyone he met.  He had never bothered her again.

The drums rolled in a final flurry as Kalola completed her dance, her
bronzed body glistening in the light of the two torches she dexterously
twirled with such speed that they seemed hoops of fire.  She ended by
tossing them into the air and catching them as she ran from the stage.
She returned to a prolonged applause to take a bow, then hurried
offstage to her dressing room.

Carefully locking the door from the inside, she divested herself of the
six flower leis she wore, the skimpy halter top and the short, imitation
grass skirt.  Then she removed her make-up with theatrical cream and
quickly donned street clothes.  She smiled happily at her naked
reflection in the mirror, glad of the fate that had granted her skin as
smooth as brown silk, breasts that jutted enticingly from her upper body
and hips and thighs, developed from years of dancing into twin
perfections of breathlessly lovely shape.  She had long known that her
seductively contoured form and piquantly beautiful face were great
assets in show business, but now she was particularly pleased with her
natural endowments because they pleased Jimmy.  He praised her and
petted her and could keep neither his hands nor his lips off of her body
when they were together.  And that made it an equitable arrangement,
because she couldn't keep her hands off of him either.  He had taught
her to make love, and now she lived only for the hours when they lay
together, white and brown bodies entwined as they struggled in the
frenzied, panting, rapturous dance of passion.

Kalola left the night club by the back door and took a city bus to the
apartment she shared with her lover in the Marina District.  Jimmy met
her at the door and swept her into his arms.  She was glad he had just
gotten there and had not yet had time to change from his uniform.  She
loved the feel of the dark-blue broadcloth with its contrasting white
stripes, rating badge and single red hashmark.  They kissed hungrily and
he, as usual, dropped a hand to raise her skirt in back and caress the
firm, rounded flesh of her buttocks.  Everything was exactly as it had
always been with them ... and yet it wasn't.  Kalola thought she
detected a note of preoccupation, almost absentmindedness, in the kiss
and in the caressing hands.

"Whatsa matta you, fella jimboy?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing.  For crissake quit talking pidgin," he responded irritably.

She was instantly and deeply hurt.  It was the first time he had ever
voiced an objection to the inland English she often used with him as a
kind of lover's baby talk.  She knew now that something real was
troubling him, but she was too wise in the ways of a woman to let him
see her hurt.  She would wait and he would tell her when he was ready.
She knew the kind of therapy he needed.  She ran a hand down the front
of his trousers, feeling for his cock through the tight material.

Jimmy stood tense and still for a moment, then he relaxed.  "Gosh,
Kalola honey, I'm sorry," he muttered.  "I'm just--"  She silenced him
with her lips on his.

"Undress me," she whispered around the corner of the kiss.  "Take my
clothes off, Jimmy, and kiss my titties."

He hesitated, seeming for a moment on the point of refusing, and then,
with a groan, he unzipped her dress at the back and let it fall to the
floor.  She wore no underwear.

"Now you," she said.  "Hurry, Jimmy."  While he struggled to pull his
jumper off over his broad shoulders, Kalola knelt and undid the thirteen
buttons of his trousers.  She pulled them down and his shorts as well,
clasping her arms around his hips and pulling him toward her so that his
stiffening cock was cuddled against her cheek.  She showered avid kisses
on the thick shaft of it, on his belly and thighs.  She reluctantly
disengaged herself from him only long enough to remove his shoes and
socks, then they hurried, arm in arm, to the bedroom.

She lay back across the bed to let him lean over her and suck greedily
at the dark brown of her nipples, his tongue and teeth sending thrills
chasing through her that made her squirm with mounting desire.  She
closed her eyes and rocked her head from side to side, her long, black
hair fanned out on the pink of the chenille bedspread, her knees bent
and her heels hooked under the edge of the mattress.

He lowered his head from her breasts to the taut skin of her stomach,
his wet lips and tongue leaving a trail of moisture across her brown
hide.

"Now do it to me!  Oh, do it to me good, Jimmy!" she pleaded.

He mounted her and thrust his cock into her open and receptive vagina as
she cried out in ecstasy.  As he fucked it into her, she pulled his face
down to hers and sucked his tongue into her mouth.  Her hips rose to
meet his and she felt his long, hard cock probe deeply, the head of it
bumping its way past the mouth of her womb until it hit bottom.  He
continued to push at her, creating a little thrill of pain with each
lunge of his body.  This was what she loved most of all, the bigness and
the length of him and the fact that he filled her so completely that
doing it with him was both painful and heavenly.  Tonight he was
particularly rough with her, as though taking his earlier flash of
irritability out on her body, punishing her for loving him too much, for
demanding and getting too much of him.  She cried out in pain and
passion and strained for more, willing him to give her a physical pain
to erase the memory of the other hurt he had inflicted on her.

Jimmy Murphy was actually neither very experienced nor very adept as a
lover.  But Kalola in her innocence didn't know that.  She thought he
was the greatest fucker who had ever lived.  On the occasions when he
came before she did, leaving her aching and frustrated, she forgave him
easily, supposing that such was her lot in life and all she could expect
as her share of intercourse.

Her passion mounted, welling and growing in her like the froth on
boiling waters, until her body lost all meaning except as a chalice for
his prick and a capsule to contain the screaming nerves that had become
her.  It was one of her lucky nights.  She was able to have her orgasm
just before he did.  Their locked bodies continued to writhe and twitch
in unison with the fading pulses of dying sensation that still shook
them in surges of decreasing power.

"Jimmy," she whispered, her dark eyes adoring him, "I'll bet no other
guy in the world can make love like you."

Jimmy frowned and looked uncomfortable.  "I've been keeping track," he
said, not meeting her eyes directly.  "You know how long it's been since
your last period?"

"Hunh?"  She looked blank and then startled and admitted she didn't
know.

"Nearly two months," he told her accusingly.  "You aren't pregnant, are
you?"

Kalola's eyes became round with mild shock as this new idea penetrated
her mind, then she smiled radiantly.  "Gee!  Do you think I might be?
Wouldn't that be wonderful, Jimmy?"

His frown deepened.  "You better not be," he told her threateningly, "or
we're in a helluva mess.  I just got orders today that I'm being
transferred back East ... Brooklyn Navy Yard."

He had just dropped a bomb into the middle of her life and blown it to
hell.  Yet he seemed unaware of what he had done.  He couldn't
understand her heartbreak and grew angry with her when she cried and
begged.  As if it explained everything, he casually announced that he
was already married anyway and what the hell had she expected?

A sunny disposition was not the only thing Kalola's conglomerate, racial
heritage had bequeathed her.  Her slanted eyes narrowed to slits and her
lips curled into a snarl of rage as she hurled herself at him with
clawing fingernails and flailing feet and knees.  He managed to
barricade himself in the bathroom until her temper had cooled, then he
wisely gathered up his uniform and fled, leaving Kalola sobbing and
screaming on the bed.

He had been gone from the apartment for an hour when she sat up and
looked around her.  Her face was puffed from crying, but her eyes were
now dry and her mouth was set in hard lines such as it had never before
known.

"Okay, you goddamn sonomobeech.  I show you pretty damn good, hunh," she
muttered aloud, lapsing back into the pidgin of her childhood in the
slums of Honolulu.  She went to the living room, fumbled through the
phone book and found a number.  She dialed it, and when a man's voice
answered, she said: "Mista Drew?  This is Kalola.  You no mad at me fo'
kick you in nuts?  Okay.  You still wanta fuck me, I come you house.
Sure, I come now, I stay you house all night, you fuck me plenty, yeah?"
She hung up the receiver on its cradle.

"I show you, sailorboy shitty basta'd," she said as she pulled on her
clothes.

A bewildered Herb Drew met Kalola at the door of his apartment.  He
wasn't at all sure what he was letting himself in for, but the powerful
yen he had developed for the little brown dancer was greater even than
his still vivid memory of an aching scrotum.  "Come in," he greeted her.
"I'm glad you've changed your mind.  Can I fix you a drink?"

"Sure.  We get plenty drunk, hunh?  And we fucky-fucky all night, too."

"Suits me," Herb agreed, "although I'll be damned if I can figure why
you decided to give me a little at two o'clock in the morning."  He
poured her a double shot and watched her toss it off with no apparent
effort, a thing he thought strange when he knew for a fact she did not
drink.

"Come on," she said, "let's go sackside.  You bring one bottle, fella.
Okay?"

Herb shrugged and followed her into the bedroom, noting that she was
unzipping her dress and stepping out of it as she walked.  He undressed
and they had another drink, then he lowered himself to the bed and drew
her to him.

It was no part of Kalola's plan to enjoy herself with Herb Drew.  What
she was doing was strictly for revenge.  What she had not counted on was
the stimulating effects of the whiskey and that Herb was an accomplished
roue, quite expert at his chosen avocation.  She did notice, with more
interest than she had intended to have, that his cock was much larger
than Jimmy Murphy's.  She had been sure that the sailor had the world's
largest prick, but now she saw that he had been only a boy after all.

"I know a few tricks, baby," Herb said as he squeezed her breasts and
regarded her shapely body with all the honest appreciation of the true
connoisseur.  "How do you want it?"

"I no give a damn," Kalola answered coldly.

"All right," he agreed.  "In that case, honey, I'd like to suck your
cunt.  I've had a tongue hard-on ever since I first saw you dance."

She had not the slightest notion what he meant, but she watched with
some interest as he slid down on the bed and put his head between her
thighs.  When his tongue shot into her, she still did not understand,
but when he began expertly sucking and lapping her clitoris, she
suddenly got the idea.

She lay there, a withdrawn and frigid statue, hating him because he was
a man and white but hating Jimmy Murphy even more.  She managed to
maintain her frozen pose for nearly five minutes.  But Herb's cunning
tongue was not to be denied.  In spite of herself, Kalola became aware
of a very pleasant sensation that was tingling its way up through her
nervous system.  It grew and grew, blossoming with every passing second
and with every stroke of the educated tongue.  She fought against it,
not wanting to like what he was doing and not wanting to like him.  But
the whiskey was her undoing; it had both stimulated her and lowered the
bars of her inhibitions.  In a matter of moments her hips were rotating
in time with the beat of Herb's tongue and her hands were clenching and
unclenching on the bedspread.

With her mind, Kalola was hating him, and hating herself for what she
was doing with him, but she was being like the priest in the story who
explained why he seduced the nun by saying: "From the belly button up I
am a priest; from the waist down I am still a man."  Her body was
treacherously refusing to obey the dictates of her mind.

Herb Drew was enjoying himself and deriving much more than the normal
satisfaction from this erotic love-play.  Not only was he fulfilling a
burning ambition, but in a way he was also revenging himself for the
misery she had dealt him with her hard little knee.  Time after time he
brought her to the very edge of an orgasm and then slackened his
efforts, only to start all over again the moment she began to relax.  He
managed to keep it up for an hour, reveling in the mildly sadistic
pleasure of knowing that he had reduced her to a helpless, moaning lump
of over-sensitized jelly, her nerves so finely drawn that every touch of
his tongue or fingers drove her to the verge of screaming insanity.
Only when his own desire had reached the point where he could no longer
control it did he relent.  He suddenly reared up from his position
between her quivering thighs and thrust his massive cock into her with
ruthless force.  She did scream then, but as much from pleasure as from
pain.  He could have made her come with one or two well-calculated
strokes, but still he held off, tantalizing her while treating her to
more excruciatingly poignant sensations that she had ever before known.

"Beg for it, you beautiful, little brown bitch," he gasped.

Kalola looked up at him with wild eyes, her pride and her hate
forgotten.  "Yes!" she cried.  "Yes, I beg.  Do it.  Make me come!"

He leered.  "Say please."

"Please!  Please, please, please!"

"That's better, goddamn you.  Kick me in the nuts, will you?  I'll have
you on the floor licking my feet before this night is over."

"Okay.  Anything!  But please make me come."

Grinning savagely, he increased the tempo of his plunging prick.  When
he felt her cunt begin to work convulsively, he let himself go, filling
her with the viscous, sticky stuff.

She thought her strength gone, her body weakened from the strain of the
hour in which he had tortured her, but when she felt him gushing into
her, it was as though he were injecting her with new power.  She arched
her back so violently that she lifted him a foot off the bed.  Her
strong legs clamped his thighs with the strength of a maddened octopus,
her heels drumming on his buttocks as she tried to drive him even deeper
into her.  Her orgasm was devastating, a thing of total, bodily
involvement.  She felt that she was melting in the heat of her own
passion ... melting and running like a river of fire into the white-hot
chalice of her own cunt.

It was over and yet it was not.  Herb would not let it be over.  Where
Jimmy had been content after screwing her to light a cigarette or roll
over and go to sleep, Herb gave her not even a moment in which to
collect herself or to enjoy the deep, somnolent pleasure of passion's
afterglow.  He withdrew from her and immediately began to suck her
nipples while his fingers did a light dance on her sensitized body.
When she protested feebly, he ignored her plea and began making a tour
of her body with the tip of his tongue.  He drew it across her stomach
and her ribs, down the length of her leg to her feet and up the other
leg.  He even rolled her over to give her back the same treatment,
kissing and biting at her buttocks, then spreading them to tantalize the
brown button of her anus, licking it until she was in a frenzy of new
excitement and even forcing the tip of his tongue into the tight
orifice.

She couldn't imagine why he was doing such a thing, but she didn't care.
She was pleading with him to fuck her again.  She was not aware of his
intention until he had pushed her onto her side, hunched himself up
close to her back and had the head of his cock started into her asshole.
She struggled, but he was too strong for her.  She screamed in real pain
as he thrust strongly into her.  She would have fought him, but he
reached over her hip and thrust his hand in her crotch, his fingers
finding her clitoris and agitating it.  She forgot the pain then, even
relishing it and letting it help her toward another orgasm.  He made her
come three times that way, then began another long siege of teasing
until she was again a bundle of agonized nerves and begging for release.

"Okay," he told her, "take it in your mouth and I'll fix you up.
Otherwise, I'll keep you going like this all night."

"I don't do that.  It's dirty."

"Suit yourself."

"Fuck me in the ass again.  I liked that."

"No, I'm tired of it.  Suck my cock or I'll go down on you and I won't
let you come either."

"Okay, but you make me come soon, hunh?"

"After you swallow my jism, baby."

He turned around on the bed and, putting a hand behind her head, thrust
his dripping, shit-flecked prick between her lips.  Kalola dutifully
sucked.  It seemed a strange and nasty thing to be doing until he put
his face to her crotch and began licking her pussy.  Then, when her
passion had again been aroused to an intense pitch, she began to like
the feel and the taste of him in her mouth.  When he came, she swallowed
rapidly and milked the shaft with her hand to extract the last drop of
semen.  She continued to hold his cock in her mouth as he worked her
clitoris and brought her to another wild climax.

*     *     *

"You better go home now, kiddo.  You got a show to do this afternoon,"
Herb said sleepily at six o'clock in the morning.

"I don't want to go," Kalola rejoined.  "Why can't I just stay here with
you, Herb?  Tonight, after work, I'll fix dinner for you.  I'm a good
cook Hawaiian style.  Then we can go to bed and fuck and suck all night
again."

He regarded her coldly.  "I see you don't get the picture," he told her.
"I never screw the same girl twice, honey.  You're a great little piece
of ass, but, frankly, seconds on you would bore hell out of me.  Run
along now.  It was fun.  Let's let it go at that."

Considering the scene she had made when Jimmy Murphy had rejected her,
Kalola went very quietly.  She went to her own apartment, called an
airline for reservations, packed and took a cab to the airport.  She was
going home and she would never again in her lifetime come to the
mainland never even want to hear it mentioned.

She got in line to validate her ticket behind a beautiful, red-haired
girl and a pretty blonde dressed like a hippie.

Chapter 4

It required only two hundred miles of cottony white clouds, as seen from
several miles above a sparkling blue Pacific, for the three girls to
become acquainted.  Seated together on the starboard side of the
aircraft, they made an interesting study in contrasts with Kalola's
dark, exotic beauty, the blonde prettiness of Ellen Canfield, and Lynn,
the vivid and vivacious redhead.

By the four-hundred-mile point, they had begun to tell each other their
troubles.

"I saw your picture in the paper," Lynn sympathized with Ellen.  "How
terrible for you for your ... her ... husband to die that way."

Ellen regarded her blankly.  Then her lazy, pretty mouth curled into a
smile that was half sincere.  "You mean like the papers said, from an
overdose of 'L'?  Bullshit, darling.  Maxy fucked himself to death, and
don't start thinking what a lucky girl I was either.  The son of a bitch
didn't screw himself into the next world on me.  He got tired of me
after the first week.  All I did after that was hustle for him to keep
him in bread."

"Men are dirty bastards," Kalola put in, her eyes slitting and her lips
forming a hard, bitter line.  "I will never be nice to another man.  I
will take them for everything I can get from them ... after I have made
them screw me, of course."

"My own experience with them has not been so good," Lynn confessed.  "My
own husband divorced me for no better reason than because he happened to
catch me playing with his best friend's cock.  Now, mind you, we hadn't
done a thing.  It was at a party and we'd all been drinking.  I'd been
dancing with this man and he got a hard-on, and all I did was take it
out and stroke it a little."

"And they think they're so superior," Kalola snorted, "the narrow-
minded, nasty, selfish bastards!"

Ellen nodded in sympathetic agreement.

"What will you do in the islands?" Kalola asked her.

Ellen shrugged and looked vague.  "I don't know.  I hear there's a nice
hippie colony out on Oahu.  Max had two kilos of pot stashed away.  I
sold it for enough to get a plane ticket.  I still got a half a kilo and
a dozen tabs each of LSD, mescaline and speed.  That'll get me by for a
while."

"You're better off than I am," Lynn said.  "That cheap brother-in-law of
mine gave me only three hundred dollars.  I guess I'll have to find me a
little grass shack on the beach and live off of bananas."

Kalola looked at her pityingly.  "Boy, you malihini wahines sure got
plenty to learn.  If you find a grass shack anywhere, it will be on top
of a high-rise apartment building and cost you two hundred bucks a
month.  They catch you swiping bananas they put you in jail and forget
they got you in there."

"What is a malihini wahine?" Lynn asked.

"Wahine is girl," Kalola replied, "and malihini is newcomer ... like
tenderfoot or greenhorn.  You'll be lucky to find an apartment at all.
I've got friends who live in what we call 'The Jungle.'  That's the poor
people's district off the main street in Waikiki.  Sometimes you can get
an apartment there for a hundred a month ... you pay the gas and
lights."

"Why don't the three of us try to find one together?" Lynn suggested.
"Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Sure," Kalola agreed, "but I don't know what we'll do for a living.
You don't know anything but teaching school, and I guess I can't get a
job dancing ... not after walking out on my contract in San Francisco."

"Why don't we all turn pro?" Ellen asked.  "Seems to me, with all the
rich tourists and other squares there, we ought to make out okay by
whoring."

"Probably have to," Kalola agreed.

"I wouldn't mind," Lynn said.  "But maybe there's a better way.  I have
a very good camera with me, and I'm something of an amateur
photographer.  We can probably rig up a darkroom to develop our own
pictures.  What I had in mind was blackmail.  We pick out an important
man and one of us brings him to the house.  When you both have your
clothes off and things are getting real interesting, one of the others
can take the pictures.  With infra-red film you don't even have to have
light."

The other two looked at Lynn with suddenly increased respect.

"Maybe you're not so malihini after all," Kalola said.  "Okay, I'll go
see Joe Moto when we get to Waikiki.  Maybe he's got a house for us."

*     *     *

It has been said that the most charmingly Polynesian part of Oahu is the
International Airport at Honolulu.  That this atmosphere is deliberately
and not too subtly contrived detracts not one whit from the validity of
the statement, for the rest of the island is even more commercial, more
of a tourist trap, and even phonier.

Not that this meant a thing to Kalola.  She was used to it and expected
nothing else.  From the time the plane came in sight of the crater of
Haleakala on Maui, and then swung north to pick up Diamond Head, she was
happy because she was home.  She didn't need to hear the canned strains
of "Beyond the Reef" to become misty-eyed.  The familiar scent of plume
ria or pikake was enough to strum the strings of her sentimental heart.

Ellen glanced disinterestedly about her with that bored and blase
attitude she considered most proper and becoming to a hippie.

Lynn, on the other hand, was full of "ohs" and "ahs" and behaved in the
normal, rubberneck fashion of the typical tourist.  She had to be
steered firmly by souvenir stands offering koa ashtrays, ersatz grass
skirts, ukeleles and numerous other items ... most of which had been
made in Japan.

They took the airport bus to Kalakaua Avenue and were in the heart of
famed Waikiki, although all they could see of it were the fronts of huge
hotels, apartments, stores and honky-tonk spots.

"Isn't there supposed to be an ocean around here someplace?" Lynn asked,
disappointed.

"Oh, sure," Kalola replied.  She waved a hand to the west.  "Somewhere
out there beyond the hotels ... if some mainland real estater hasn't
drained it and started a new sub-division.  Come on.  We go find Joe
Moto."  She led them down Lewers Street and turned on Kuhio Avenue,
stopping in front of an ancient frame building with a faded sign on its
porch.  The sign depicted a sick-looking palm tree.  Beneath this time-
worn cutout could be seen the name, "Pacific Paradise Hotel."  The
grounds were shaded by kukui trees and the moist, warm air was cloying
with the sweet scent of frangipani.  Behind the office they could see,
half hidden by the lush, tropical growth of shrubs and flowers, a number
of small shacks that leaned awry on crumbling foundations.

A bandy-legged, squat and swarthy man with squinted slits of eyes and a
bald, bullet-shaped head, came out at Kalola's call.  He stood on the
front porch, picking his teeth with a match stick and regarding the
three girls dubiously.  "You come back, hunh?" he greeted Kalola.  "You
want house now.  Who these other wahines?"

"Friends of mine," the little dancer told him.  "Come on, Joe, fix us up
with a place.  We plenty damned tired."

"I dunno," Joe said.  He was eyeing Ellen, taking in her flowered pants
and the medallion hung between her large breasts.  "We don't want no
hippies.  Big trouble from cops alla time."

"Boy, you sure dumb," Kalola rejoined scornfully.  "All rich tourists
from mainland dress hippie style now.  Anyway, Ellen no make you
trouble.  She damn good, hard-working whore."

"Oh," Joe Moto said.  "Why didn't you say so?  Okay, take number four.
It ain't locked."  He started back into the house.  "Rent went up again
while you was gone," he said.  "You pay one-twenty a month now."

"Jap sonomobeech!" Kalola muttered under her breath as she led the two
girls to number four.  The two bedroom house was permeated by the musty
smell of mold and of rotting timbers.  It was permanently occupied by
countless cockroaches, cane spiders bigger than the inside of a tea cup
and small lizards of all colors.

"Is it a house or a goddamned zoo?" Lynn asked plaintively as she looked
for a spot free of insect life where she might deposit her suitcase.

"You'll get used to 'em," Kalola assured her.  "Let's go swimming."

They changed into bathing suits and walked the shaded streets to the
beach, a small semicircle of sand between two hotels and crowded with
people.  They swam in the warm water and played in the almost negligible
surf, then stretched out on the beach to take the sun.

"Who should we start on?" Lynn asked as she wiped suntan lotion on her
gleaming thighs.  "I mean where do we start looking for a blackmail
victim?"

"Wouldn't just whoring be simpler?" Ellen questioned, but Kalola ignored
her.  Her forehead was wrinkled in thought.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, "I bet I know who we can take.  Mike is running
for state senator.  He's got a thing about blondes.  With election
coming up, he'll be a cinch.  You want to try him, Ellen?"

Ellen shrugged.  "Why not?  The islands seem a funny place to be making
it with an Irish politician ... but what the hell."

"He's not Irish," Kalola explained.  "His name is Mike Fuda.  He's jap.
I can introduce you to him."

"Let's go home then," Lynn suggested.  "I want to see about turning that
closet in my bedroom into a darkroom, and I have to figure out where I
can hide and get a shot of him and Ellen."

"You chicks go ahead," Ellen said lazily.  "I'm gonna stay on the beach
awhile."

"Okay," Kalola agreed, "but be right here where we can find you later.
Soon as Lynn gets everything set up, I'm going to call Mike Fuda and
make a date for you.  Mike goes for blondes like a monkey goes for
peanuts.  He'll start at your toes and eat you up."

Ellen shrugged.  "I don't mind getting eaten.  There was a queer kid in
San Francisco who'd come up to the pad every day to eat my pussy, until
that damned Max started charging him."

After the other two had left, Ellen slept for a while.  She awoke and
sat up to light a cigarette and stare dreamily out at the flat,
shimmering expanse of blue that was the Pacific.  She felt no particular
thrill at the knowledge that she was in the Hawaiian Islands.  To her, a
beach was a beach and an ocean was just a hell of a lot of water.  Had
Max not upset her life by dying, she would as soon have been back in the
dark, familiar confines of the room they had shared in the building a
block off of Haight Street, San Francisco.  When she thought of the many
friends, of both sexes, who had come there to make love to her on the
semen-stinking, urine-soaked mattress, she grew homesick and wished she
had not come to the islands in the first place.

She had no illusions concerning her chosen role in life as a hippie
girl.  She was well aware of the fact that she was not a real hippie and
that the crowd she had met in the Hip Room were nothing more than a
group of moral degenerates who had found it convenient to dress and talk
like hippies as a cover for the constant round of dissipation that had
become a way of life for them.  Among those who had accepted Max as a
leader, she had never heard a discussion on any subject more serious
than the high price of dope, or how to stay stoned and sexually
debauched without working.  She had mentioned moving to the hippie
colony, but doubted that she would be accepted by them.  It suited her
purpose to remain with the two girls she had met on the plane.  If they
wanted her to hustle for them, that was all right with her.  She thought
that being a professional prostitute was the best job in the world, and
remembered with scorn her previous life as a virginal secretary in an
insurance office.

A young man, blond-haired and husky, came out of the water before her.
He stooped to retrieve a surfboard, tucked it under his arm and came up
the beach toward Ellen.  He stopped in front of her and stood there
dripping, an appreciative grin on his face.

"Hi," he said.  "You must be a new arrival.  I haven't seen you before.
Do you surf?"

Ellen shook her head, her long, blonde hair rippling across her back in
the sunlight.  "No.  Is it fun?  Why don't you tell me about it?"

He sat down beside her and accepted one of her cigarettes.  He told her
his name was Dan McCraken and that he was on summer vacation from
college on the mainland.  "Surfing is groovy," he assured her, "but not
so good when the waves aren't up.  Like that out there."  He waved his
hand to indicate the listless, two-foot-high surf.  "That's strictly a
bummer.  What are you doing here?  Are you vacationing, too?"

Ellen smiled and failed to answer.  She was quite adept at not answering
personal questions until she was ready.  "You smoke pot or drop acid?"
she asked instead.

Dan hesitated a moment, then admitted that he had tried it a few times.

"I thought you might have some friends who'd want to buy," she said.
"In case you do, I'm holding."

"I might," he replied cautiously.  "How about a date tonight?  We could
go to a show."

Ellen regarded him intently.  She saw that he was less mature than she
had first supposed.  Still, he was big enough and old enough.  He was
apparently dumb and innocent, but he had a good, muscular body and, to
her, cock was cock.

"Okay," she agreed, "but let's get everything understood between us from
the start.  You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you?  You figure if you take
me to the show, and maybe buy me a hamburger, you can talk me into
giving you a little.  That right?  Well, why don't we save ourselves
some time?  I don't give a shit about shows or hamburgers.  I just like
getting laid.  So, if you want to screw me, never mind the rest of that
crap.  Okay?"

Dan's prominent Adam's apple jerked up and down and he blushed deeply
under the peeling red and brown of his recently acquired tan.  "Gosh!  I
never met a girl like you before.  Yeah, if you want it, I sure do.
You're the prettiest chick I've ever seen."

"I don't want to wait until tonight, either," Ellen declared.  "There
must be some place on this beach where we can do it."

"Sure," he said eagerly.  "Up toward Diamond Head, there's a little
cover.  Hardly anyone ever goes there.  Wait 'til I leave my board with
some friends of mine."  He rose and took his surfboard over to where a
group of youths his own age lolled on the sand.  He talked with them for
a minute, then returned.

It was quite a long walk, but on the way Ellen confirmed her belief that
it was probably going to be worth it.  As soon as they were out of sight
of the crowd, she slipped her hand inside Dan's bathing trunks to feel
his prick, ascertaining to her satisfaction that his cock was fully man
sized, and that it was already hard as stone and throbbing with
readiness.

She calculated that they would be gone no more than two hours.  Surely
it would take Kalola and Lynn longer than that to get the house fixed up
the way they wanted it and arrange the date with Mike Fuda for her.

The cove was as isolated as Dan had promised and was the prettiest spot
she had yet seen on the island.  He led her to a natural bower formed by
red ginger and hibiscus.  As they dropped together to the warm, white
sand, she was already taking off her bikini top and Dan was staring in
slack-jawed fascination at her pink-tipped, creamy breasts as he fumbled
to remove his own shorts..

Ellen laughed.  "You never see any tits before?  Suck 'em, buddy boy,
they're vitamin enriched."

Danny did.  He thought she was the strongest, boldest girl he had ever
met, but although she embarrassed him, she also inflamed him with
desire.  She was certainly unlike any of the scrawny, flat-chested, sun-
bleached girls who ran with the surfing crowd in California.

"Wipe the sand off of your cock and stick it in me," she ordered as she
tugged to make him roll over on top of her.  "I haven't been fucked
since I left the mainland and I'm burning up.  Ah, yes!  That's it!
Goddamn, how I like having all that meat in my cunt!  Ram it to me,
baby!"

Dan was fumbling and inept.  She was only the third girl he had ever
done it with, although he talked big among the other boys and bragged
about imaginary couplings.  Encouraged by her urging, he let himself go,
jamming his cock in and out of her hot, grasping cunt with what he
considered brutal force.

Ellen was disappointed.  He came quickly, before she could, pulling out
of her to leave her frustrated and still passionate.  She sighed,
realizing he didn't know any better.  She would have to pretend it was
all right and try to get him ready again.  The second time would be
different.  He was grinning down at her, obviously proud of himself and
believing he had shown her a good time.  She kissed him and wiggled her
hips suggestively.  It was no use.  They'd have to wait.

At that moment a shadow fell across them, and she looked over his
shoulder to see another boy standing in the entrance to the bower.  She
recognized him.  He was one of the surfers with whom Dan had left his
board.  Behind him were four others.

"What the hell you guys doing here?" Dan demanded angrily.

"We just thought we'd see how you were making out, little buddy," the
one nearest the entrance said, grinning wickedly.  "We thought you might
need a little help."

"He sure does," Ellen replied for Dan, pushing him off of her.  "Line
up, fellows.  Better yet, if one of you wants some asshole, I'll take
you on two at a time."

Ignoring the protesting Dan, they crowded into the bower and one
stripped off his trunks, getting astride of her with no need for further
invitation.  She let him enter her, then made him turn on his side so
she could raise one leg.  "Come on," she said to another of them, "do it
in my ass.  I like being double-decked."

She squealed with delight when the boy began working his prick into her
anus and the first one started humping her.  She imagined she could feel
the two cocks almost touching each other within her body.  This was
living, she thought exultantly.  To have hard, male bodies, smelling of
sweat and salt water, filling her and hammering at her, hands and eager
mouths mauling and sucking at her breasts, to know that this was
happening while others watched, waiting their turn while they stared
with burning eyes at her naked limbs, seeing the cocks tunneling into
her ... this was the only time she really came alive.

She saw that even Dan was getting another hard-on.  She rolled toward
him.  "Put it in my mouth," she told him.  "Let me suck it for you."
Now she was complete, every body orifice fully utilized, the three
different kinds of sensation building in her all at once.  She began to
come, going a little crazy with each climax that followed one after the
other in nearly continuous procession, each one more poignantly ecstatic
than the last.  Then her cunt, her ass and her mouth were suddenly full
of cum, the sticky, hot stuff flooding her as the boys grunted and cried
out in the wonderful agony of passion.  Ellen came a final time herself.

She was limp and weak when they pulled out of her, but only for a
minute.  She called to the others, "Take me now ... the same way.
Hurry, don't let me cool off."  They willingly mounted her and fucked
her with fresh enthusiasm.  She looked up at one of the boys who had
just left her body.  "If you know more guys, go get them," she begged
him.  "I want a real gang-bang.  Please!"

He pulled his trunks into position and trotted off on his errand.  He
knew where he could usually find at least a dozen of the surfer crowd
hanging out.

It was two o'clock in the morning when Ellen walked into the house on
Kuhio Avenue.  She hoped the other girls would be asleep, but they were
not.  They were sitting in the living room, glaring at her and tapping
their fingers on chair arms.  An empty bottle and two glasses were on
the end table between them, but they weren't drunk ... just furious.

"I know ... I know," Ellen sighed wearily, holding up a hand to
forestall their attack.  "I know I'm a cop-out and a bummer, but I
couldn't help it.  You see, I met this surfer and it turned out he had a
bunch of friends and ... well ... the first thing I knew it was too late
to keep a date with Mike Fuda and ..."

*     *     *

Joe Moto stirred uneasily and came awake.  He listened to the commotion
for a while.  "I knew it," he scolded himself.  "I knew them three cunts
would be nothing but big trouble.  Lucky if someone don't call the cops.
Maybeso tomorrow I throw 'em out on their asses."  But he knew he
wouldn't ... not as long as they paid the exorbitant rent he was
charging them.  His Oriental soul would have known no peace had he,
through petulance, allowed his temper to cause him to miss the chance to
make a profit.

Chapter 5

Kalola awoke to a sense of well being.  The raucous chatter of myna
birds had awakened her.  From a distance came the sound of a riveting
gun, indicating that another high-rise apartment was being erected.
These were the sounds of Waikiki, and she smiled with contentment at
this proof that she was home.

She considered her situation and decided it could easily be worse.  It
was true that, after paying one month's rent in advance, plus a cleaning
deposit and a light and gas deposit, they were nearly broke.  They had a
month in which to raise more rent money, and when the time came that
three pretty girls couldn't make out well enough to eat regularly, then
Waikiki would really have changed.

She thought about her newly acquired friends and decided that they were
plenty maikai ... even if they were white and from the mainland.  In her
present, expansive mood, she was quite willing to forgive Ellen for
goofing off with a bunch of surfers and forgetting her date with Mike
Fuda.  Still, there was the fact that something must be done about the
state of their finances.  She wrinkled her forehead and concentrated on
the problem.

"Hey!" she exclaimed at last, "I betcha I know!"  She threw back the
sheet that had covered her, scrambled out of bed, her naked brown body
gleaming in the soft light of morning, and ran to the other room where
Lynn and Ellen slept.  She found Lynn nude and sleeping on top of the
bedspread, and she paused a moment to admire the white beauty of the
redhead's seductively formed limbs and perfectly shaped breasts.  "Yep,"
she said half-aloud, "she's just the one to pull it off.  Lynn!  Hey,
Lynn, wake up!"

The red-haired girl stirred and opened her eyes.

"I gotta great idea," Kalola said excitedly, sitting on the edge of the
bed.  "I just remembered about Tony Nunez.  He's a Portuguese guy who
owns a big hotel out Pearl City way.  He's got a big thing for white
chicks with red hair.  Any redhead can go ask him for a job and he puts
her to work, no matter how dumb she is.  Then, if she won't sleep with
him, he fires her and hires another.  They say he's got a Jap wife who
gave him five kids and then crossed her legs when she caught him
screwing one of the hotel maids.  Come on, get dressed and we'll go to
Pearl City.  When you get him all set up, you bring him here and we take
pictures ... like we were gonna do with Mike and Ellen.  How about it?"

Lynn raised an arm to look at her wrist watch, then turned sleepy, green
eyes on Kalola.  "At nine o'clock in the morning?"

"Sure," Kalola agreed heartily.  "Like you guys on the mainland say:
'Early worms are for the birds.'  Come on, get up."

Lynn groaned and arose.

It took them two hours to dress, have coffee and ride to Pearl City on a
bus that detoured leisurely down Hotel Street and the Kalihi District.
The "big" hotel referred to by Kalola when she first mentioned its
owner, Anthony Nunez, turned out to be a rather disreputable, third-rate
establishment, but Lynn was not unduly discouraged.  She had already
been in Honolulu long enough to realize that rent being what it was,
owning any hotel could be considered tantamount to owning a gold mine.

They crossed the faded carpet of the lobby to the desk where a fat
Hawaiian woman, dark as any African, regarded their approach with silent
suspicion.  She admitted, although reluctantly, that Mr. Nunez was in
his office.

"If you're looking for a job," she told Lynn with open animosity, "don't
worry about it.  He'll hire you, all right.  You'll be the third one
with red hair he's hired this month.  I hope you remembered to bring
your diaphragm."

"How sweet of you to remind me!" Lynn replied.  "I suppose that was what
you hotel girls used back in your day.  Well, it's the Pill now, deary.
But, of course, you wouldn't know about that."

Kalola giggled as they turned away from the desk.  "Gosh, Lynn!" she
whispered admiringly, "I'm going to learn a lot from you about being
bitchy.  This is the office.  I'll wait down the street in the coffee
shop.  Good luck."

Lynn's knock was answered by a gruff "Come," and she opened the door to
face the biggest, blackest man she had ever seen.  That he was
Portuguese she had no doubt.  It showed in his classical features, his
curly, black hair, and a certain Latin air, yet it was equally obvious
that several other racial strains, all of them very dark, mingled
liberally with the European blood line.  She introduced herself timidly,
overawed by his impressive bulk.

"I suppose you heard I hire redheads?"  It was a question.

Lynn blushed.  "Yes."

Nunez chewed thoughtfully on the dead cigar that jutted from a corner of
his mouth.  "And you figured you'd get next to me and then find a way of
taking me."  It was not a question.  "Don't lie about it.  They all got
the same idea.  You know what happens to them ... those others who try
that?"  He laughed.  "I give them jobs, fuck 'em and then fire 'em.  If
you want to play that game with me, it's okay.  I'd like to fuck you,
but don't get the idea you can make a sucker out of me.  I'm too smart
for you.  Well, what do you say?"

Lynn didn't know what to say.  She reasoned that she ought to be getting
mad at him, but she wasn't.  Kalola's scheme would have to be abandoned,
that was certain, but what would she do right now?  And yet she was
reluctant to leave.  Nunez was standing beside his desk, and she could
not avoid noticing the growing bulge in the front of his pants.  She
wondered what it would be like to have his great bulk on top of her, and
the thought brought an involuntary pelvic reaction that made her hips
squirm.

"I won't deny that I had something like that in mind," she told him,
"but I know when I'm beat.  I'm broke and I need a job.  I'd like to
work for you."

He laughed, the booming sound of it filling the small office.  "By God,
you're all right!" he cried.  "Okay, you got the job.  You want to start
tonight?"

"Oh, is it night work?"

He laughed again.  "You better believe it."  He handed her a key.
"That's to Number Fourteen," he said, "on the top floor.  Be there
tonight at eight.  Have your clothes off and your legs spread.  I don't
like to waste time.  What's the matter?  You think I was hiring you to
scrub floors or something?"

"Nooo," Lynn admitted.  "It's just that I'm not used to--"

"You'll get used to it," he interrupted.  "Come here."

She took the two steps that brought her within his reach.

He didn't take her in his arms.  Instead, he slowly and deliberately
reached down for her skirt and drew it up around her waist, cocking his
head on one side to study her exposed, lower body.  "Yeah, that's what I
like," he said with evident satisfaction, "good legs and hips.  Turn
around."  He patted her on the fanny.  "Nice ass, too.  If I wasn't
busy, I'd take you upstairs right now.  Look here at this.  You think
you can take that much meat, huh?"

Lynn turned around to see that he had unzipped his fly and exposed the
longest, blackest, biggest prick she had ever even heard of.  It arched
stiffly up, its circumcised head flat and broad, the shaft seeming to
her as big as a beer bottle.  She gasped at sight of it, her sharp
intake of breath as much from surprise and interest as from dismay.  She
didn't want to touch it, but she couldn't help herself.  Her hand stole
timidly to the massive organ and cradled it gently, the slender, white
fingers contrasting vividly with the velvety black flesh.  She felt its
warmth and the pulsing life in it and her crotch ached with sudden
longing.

"I can try.  A girl friend of mine is waiting, but she wouldn't mind an
hour or so if you ..."

"Sorry," Tony Nunez said.  "Like I told you, I got business to take care
of.  You be here tonight.  I'm a three-night-a-week man and I'll pay you
a hundred bucks a week.  Okay?"

Lynn nodded and reluctantly surrendered her grip on the ponderous penis.
She accepted an advance and went out of the hotel in a kind of dreamy
daze.

"I got the job," she told Kalola, "but we can't expect to do anything
with him for a while.  It will take a long time to gain his confidence
... I think."  She had no intention of telling Kalola the truth, which
was that at the moment she could think of nothing except that massive,
masculine body crushing her and that pachydermous prick plunging into
her throbbing cunt.  What the hell!  On a hundred a week they could pay
the rent and even eat a little, despite the prices she had seen in the
windows of grocery stores along Kalakalua Avenue.

She took extra care with her bathing and grooming that evening, although
she judged from Nunez' brusque, businesslike attitude that he would
hardly be the type to notice.  From her small wardrobe, she selected a
mint-green dress that complemented her eyes and hair and clung with
revealing sheerness to her figure.  She had trouble doing her
fingernails.  She was trembling and she realized that it was from
eagerness and anxiety.

Lynn was at the hotel at precisely eight.  The night-shift desk clerk
was a Hawaiian as fat as the woman who had been there that morning.  He
leered at her as she started up the stairs and called her over to the
desk.  "You the boss' new redhead, hunh?" he inquired, licking his thick
lips and grinning knowingly.  "You some doll.  Maybeso when Tony get
tired of you, you come see Buster," he said.  "That's me, Buster
Kahane."

Lynn smiled at him.  "Maybeso, Buster," she said and went on up the
stairs.  She found the room surprisingly neat and well furnished.
Contrary Tony's instructions, she did not undress, but she did kick off
her heels and make herself comfortable on the bed, arranging the dress
as though it had fallen carelessly around her hips to reveal the length
of her bare legs.  She wanted her undraped, lower body to be the first
thing he would see when he came in.  She was aware that the nylon crotch
of her panties was soaking wet with the musk-scented body fluids that
had been draining from her all day, for there had been no moment of that
time when she had been free of the mental image of Tony Nunez.  She was
so hot that she felt all she would have to do was barely touch her
clitoris with the tip of one finger to make herself go into a violent
orgasm.  It was a temptation to do so, and she wished he would hurry.

The door opened and he entered.  He was wearing white trousers and a
blue aloha shirt.  For all his weight, he walked as lightly and
gracefully as a dancer across the room, the lust already lighting his
face as he eyed her lovely, open thighs.

"You're some piece of stuff," he declared.  "I've had some good-looking
chicks, but damned if I don't think you top them all.  If you can fuck
as good as you look, I might keep you around quite a while."  He
stripped out of his pants, shirt and shorts, and she saw that he was not
at all as fat as she had imagined.  His body was overlaid with smooth
bands of muscle under the satiny sheen of his nearly black skin.  His
dangling cock was already half-hard as he sat beside her on the bed and
leaned over her to kiss her on the mouth.

Lynn had expected brutality, or at least a casual sort of roughness.
She was amazed at the gentle touch of his lips on hers and the soft,
light flow of his hand as it explored the contours of her thighs.  "I'll
get undressed for you," she whispered, her voice strained from growing
passion.

"No hurry," he murmured.  "I'll get your clothes off a little at a time.
More fun that way."  He disrobed her as he petted her, making a slow
ceremony of removing each garment, and he studied the revealed flesh as
though each part of her was a new miracle more wondrous to behold than
what had been bared before.  He toyed with each of her breasts, his
fingers teasing the nipples into erection, before he bent his head to
honor them with his wet, sucking kisses.  When she was at last nude, her
clothes a heap on the floor, he made a production out of covering her
entire body, from forehead to toes, with tender, provocative kisses,
neglecting neither the bubbling well that was her pussy nor the
quivering, brown mouth of her anus.  While he thus paid tribute to her
beauty, her hands were eagerly stroking his cock and carefully fondling
his scrotum.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, her voice nearly a thin scream of agony.  "Fuck
me now, Tony, honey!  I can't stand more of this."

"Patience," he cautioned her.  "Make it last.  It's better that way."
He continued to pet her and kiss her.  Then, when he was ready, he
warned her that he was big for her and that it might hurt.

"I don't give a damn!" she sobbed.  "Just do it."

"Okay."  He mounted her and began working his cock into her as carefully
as possible.  He had been right.  It did hurt.  From the moment the head
of it entered her, the pain began and it grew steadily worse.  It felt
to Lynn as though someone was driving an iron post into her crotch,
splitting her body inch by inch.  Strangely, however, the pain did not
diminish her passion.

"You going to be able to take it?" he grunted.

"Yes!  Yes!  Give me all of it, Tony.  I want it all, I don't care if it
kills me!"

He shoved it home, and the pain immediately subsided.  There was left
only the marvelous sensation of being filled, of being complete.  When
he began gently to rotate it and work it in and out, she felt every part
of its surface in contact with the walls of her vagina.  She clenched
her legs around his huge thighs and surged upward with her hips, wanting
even more.  She impulsively set her mouth on his and ran her tongue
between his lips.

The erotic kiss seemed to inspire him.  He increased the tempo of his
plunging prick and Lynn began to come.  She sensed that she was
approaching a climax of far greater power than any she had yet
experienced, and the impending force of it frightened her, as though she
expected her body to be consumed in the blazing inferno of her own lust,
or her mind to snap from the tension of her tortured nerves.  Yet it was
irresistible, surging up from her loins like a great wave intent on
sweeping all before it.  She surrendered to the will-crushing might of
the sensation and let her sanity and her humanity fall away like a
burden too heavy to carry.  She became all animal, a thing of primitive
and unrestrained lusts.  She was a body, tortured beyond all endurance
and responding with naked savagery.  She was a rasped nerve that cried
for relief, a writhing, twisting, inhuman thing that was all feeling.
In the throes of her madness, she bit and scratched the smooth, dark
skin of her lover.  She screamed like a wounded tigress when her orgasm
finally came.

Before it was over, she felt the hot blast of his sperm deluging her
inner body.  The combined efforts of their frantically and spasmodically
jerking muscles flung them around on the bed as though they were having
a mutual convulsion.

Tony continued to fuck his own jism back into her until their frenzy of
lust began to fade.  His motions slowed until he lay quiet but for an
occasional twitch of his buttocks.

After several minutes had passed, he raised his head to gaze down at her
with dark, sleepy eyes still filmed with the shadow of his dying lust.
"You did it," he murmured.  "You sure as hell did it!  Now you know why
I never kept any of the others around very long--they couldn't take it.
You're the first woman I ever got it all into, and the first one who
ever gave me a decent hump.  I'd marry you, if I could get rid of my
wife.  She won't divorce me, and if I boot her ass out, some of her
relatives would get me for sure.  I'm a strong man, maybe one of the
strongest in the world, but I'm not bulletproof.  She's got a brother
who is a bagman for the Syndicate here, so you can figure how long I'd
last."

"Don't take any chances like that," Lynn whispered.  "I don't want to
lose you.  We'll just be lovers.  Maybe someday something may happen to
her."

"All right," he agreed.  "I'm sorry I treated you so rough in the office
this morning.  I love you, Lynn."

She kissed him warmly.  "I love you, too.  You weren't really rough.
You're the gentlest man I've ever known.  After we've rested awhile,
will you make love to me again?  Can we stay here all night?"

"No.  I'm sorry.  If I'm not home by midnight, the little bitch raises
hell and threatens to turn her brothers loose on me.  You can sleep here
if you want.  I don't think I should screw you again, honey.  Your pussy
needs a rest after having me in it.  But I want to suck you off.  Do you
like having your cunt licked?"

"I'd love it!" Lynn replied with enthusiasm.  "I'll suck you, too--if I
can open my mouth wide enough to take it.  I wanted so much to suck it
this morning when I had my hands on it.  I'd have done it right then,
gone down on my knees and sucked it, if you'd let me."

He shook his head.  "I'm stupid.  I wasn't that busy."

They lay side by side, kissing and caressing each other with hands and
lips that grew steadily more avid.  Lynn returned the compliment he had
paid her earlier by making the grand tour of his body with her mouth and
tongue, just as he had done to her.  When she came again to his crotch,
she gave herself the pleasure of kissing and licking at his asshole, his
balls and the shaft of his cock.  It was now erect and throbbing to the
tune of his increasing fervor, a dribble of whitish fluid oozing from
the slit.  She licked it clean, then opened her mouth to its widest.
She found that the head and only an inch of the shaft was all she could
accommodate without choking.  She licked and sucked greedily while her
fingers played with the rubbery flesh and hair of his asshole.  He
pulled her hips closer to his face and, parting her thighs, thrust his
tongue into the opening of her vagina.  His tongue was large, long and
very strong.  It was almost like being fucked, she thought happily, but
she was not disappointed when he shifted his attention to the small lump
of her clitoris, agitating the sensitive gland expertly.  She knew she
was discharging heavily again, for the room was redolent with the
fragrance of her musk, and she heard him gulp repeatedly as he swallowed
mouthfuls of her body fluids.

She marveled at herself.  Until her brother-in-law had taught her this,
she had never thought she would want to become a cocksucker.  Now she
knew she was hooked, completely addicted to the erotic art.  She loved
Tony and would marry him if ever he gained his freedom from his Japanese
wife.  But she doubted if she would be true to him when there were so
many cocks to be sucked in the world.  She had loved her husband, too,
but had not been able to resist the temptation to play with another
man's cock at a dance.  When she thought of all the fun she could have
had in high school, she wished she had learned the trick earlier in
life.

Tony's clever tongue was driving her closer and closer to the point of
orgasm, so she redoubled her efforts.  She was rewarded by feeling his
muscles tighten and his bodily tension increase.  Just as the first
throb shook his prick, her own climax came about; then she was coming
wildly as she jerked her hips in short, frenzied strokes to rub her cunt
over her lover's face, yet not quite losing the contact of his tongue on
her clitoris.

His hips shuddered convulsively as his pulsing prick began to shoot gobs
of cum into her mouth and down her throat.  She sucked and swallowed
with all her might, loving the taste of him and as fiercely joyful that
she had made him come as at the wonderful sensations that emanated from
her clitoris.

Their mutual orgasm was somewhat more restrained than it had been the
first time but, in compensation, was even richer in feeling and more
prolonged.  When it was over, they were finally and completely
exhausted.

Tony left just before midnight, but Lynn was so sleepy she was hardly
aware when he went.  She had been sleeping soundly for several hours
when she awoke because someone was sitting beside her on the bed and had
the sheet pulled down.  A soft hand was fondling her breast.

"Don't get scared.  It only me, Buster Kahane," a voice whispered.  "I
got hot nuts fo' you, baby, but I think mo' bettah I wait 'til boss gone
home long time.  You give me fuck now, hunh?"

Lynn opened her eyes to see the fat desk clerk looming over her, his
hands busy with her body.  "Sorry, Buster," she said, "but you'd have a
hell of a hard act to follow.  What do you think you could do for a girl
who'd just been made love to by a man like Tony Nunez?"

Buster sighed.  "Yeh, all wahine say same thing.  I no bigshot lover
like the boss, but I got damn good prick.  Whassa matta nobody want my
prick, hunh?"  He had pulled the sheet farther down and now had two
fingers in her pussy.  With his free hand he unbuckled his trousers and
let his cock stand up.  "Whassa matta my prick?" he repeated
plaintively.

Lynn eyed the fat, smooth organ in the dim light and felt the saliva
begin to run in her mouth.  She licked her lips.

"Not a damn thing wrong with it, Buster," she said.  "You just slide
over this way so I can get it in my mouth ... and don't stop finger-
fucking me.  I love it."

Chapter 6

Lynn was not sure how to explain her new affluence to her friends.  She
was ashamed to admit that she had fallen in love with her boss and had
no intention of trying to carry out the original plan of blackmail.
After making love to her, Tony had generously doubled her salary and
delighted in buying expensive presents for her.  She considered telling
them that she was obtaining the money by rolling drunks at the hotel,
but doubted that they would believe her.

It was Ellen who solved her problem for her and made it easy for her to
confess that she was a backslider from the solemn covenant they had made
to hate all men and take them for all they could get.  She came into the
house one day, the pockets of her slacks bulging, and casually began
digging out bills and dumping them on the living room table.

"Auwe!" Kalola gasped.  "You rob a bank?"

Ellen shook her head.  "Un-unh.  Those surfers I've been getting gang-
banged by got their monthly checks from their parents, and I sold 'em
most of the pot and other stuff I've been holding.  I got over five
hundred here, and a new surfboard.  Now we don't have to worry about
paying the rent."

"Ellen," Kalola said, "you make me ashamed for all the bad things I
hollered at you the night you stood up Mike Fuda."

"Me, too," Lynn echoed.

Ellen shrugged.  "That's okay.  I didn't really want to be a blackmailer
anyway.  I'd rather just fuck and have lots of boy friends, and maybe
sell some ass once in a while when some square slob like a tourist wants
it.  I'm not so mad at guys as you chicks are."

Lynn gulped hard and took the plunge.  "I haven't been exactly honest
with either of you," she admitted.  "About Tony ... well, I wouldn't
want to do anything to hurt him.  He's a great guy and I'm ... well ...
I guess I'm pretty fond of him.  But he's been giving me money and I've
been holding out because I didn't want to tell you where I got it.
Here."  She opened her purse and contributed a stack of bills to the
pile on the table.  "I guess that about puts us out of the blackmailing
business, doesn't it?"

"Not quite," Kalola said firmly.  "I haven't got any money to put on the
table, and I want to do my share.  I haven't been lucky like you and
Ellen, but I've got a naval officer, a commander, all lined up.  I was
going to meet him tonight and maybe bring him tomorrow evening.  If I
do, will one of you help me set it up to frame him ... like we had
planned?"

"I will," Lynn volunteered.  "I can't see Tony tomorrow night, anyway.
I did have a date with Buster Kahane, but I can call him and break it.
Do you think you can take this commander for much?"

Kalola nodded.  "Maybeso plenty.  His wife is coming out here in a week.
I betcha she'd like to see some pictures of her man with a goddamned
naked little native, hunh?  If I get enough from him, I'll buy back my
contract and then I can go to work again.  Nothing is as no good as an
unemployed hula dancer."

"I don't see why you don't forget all that hard work and just be a
whore," Ellen said.  "It's easier and a lot more fun."

"If I can't get out of my contract, I will," Kalola agreed.  "Lynn seems
to like it."

Lynn looked startled.  "Hey!" she exclaimed, "that's right, isn't it?  I
hadn't thought of what I was doing as prostitution, but it sure is, now
that you mention it.  Well, what do you know?  I've gone and promoted
myself.  Both for fun and profit, it beats teaching school."

*     *     *

The girls spent the rest of the day on the beach, swimming, sunbathing
and watching Ellen struggle valiantly with the art of surfboarding.
Kalola went to keep her date with the naval officer that evening and
woke them up at one in the morning to report that all had gone well.
After letting him kiss her and feel her legs, he had wanted to take her
to a hotel room, but she had declined, saying she was too shy to do it
anywhere but in her own house and promising that she would give in to
him if he would meet her at the Outrigger Bar and bring her here.

Lynn spent the day setting her camera up so that she could shoot through
an inconspicuous hole she made in one of the bedroom walls and hid with
a trailing vine that grew from a planter.

Kalola went to keep her date and Lynn settled down to wait.  Ellen was,
as usual, in the cove with a bunch of surfers.

The appointed hour came and went and Lynn, hiding with her camera in the
other bedroom, grew restless.  She poured herself a drink and, as
another hour passed, absently poured and drank three more.  She was
feeling very little pain when she heard a commotion in the living room
and jerked erect with the guilty knowledge that she had dozed off.
There were voices and, unless Kalola's commander was a ventriloquist, he
had to be a least triplets.  Getting unsteadily to her feet, Lynn opened
the door a crack to peek out and behold Kalola in the midst of not one
naval officer but three enlisted men.  She was lying on the couch with
her head pillowed on the lap of one and her legs across the lap of
another.  Her skirt was above her hips and her panties were on the
floor.  The third man was mixing drinks.

Lynn came out into the room and Kalola, seeing her, waved gaily from her
supine position.  "Hi, Lynn," she called, "have a drink and meet Jack,
Bill and Ted."

"Wow!" the one named Bill cried, "dig the gorgeous, red-headed stuff!"
He was the one who had been appointed bartender.

"What happened to the commander?" Lynn asked Kalola.

"He stood me up," Kalola replied.  "The sonomobeech!  Maybe his wife
came from the mainland early.  Anyway, who cares?  I picked these guys
up at the Outrigger Bar."

"But I thought you hated men," Lynn insisted with drunken persistence.

Kalola grinned.  "I do ... except sailors.  It's the uniforms.  You ever
notice how a sailor's uniform smells different than other clothes?  It's
so groovy I can't resist it."

Lynn shook her head.  "No," she admitted, "I never got that close to
one."

"Well, now's your chance, Red," Bill offered gallantly.  "You can smell
me any time.  I'll bet you smell pretty good yourself."

"Watch that guy Bill," Jack warned, wiggling an experimental finger into
Kalola's pussy.  "We hear he eats at the 'Y'."

Lynn looked puzzled, and all three sailors laughed uproariously.  "He
means at the crotch," Ted explained, " 'Y' ... crotch ... get it?"

"Oh."  Lynn brightened.  "Sure, I get it.  I get it every time I have a
date with my boy friend.  You hungry now, Bill?"

The young sailor blushed.  "I never did it in public before."

"Chicken!" the other two shouted, and his blush deepened.

"Let's see how good you are," Lynn said, dropping into a chair, lifting
her dress and pulling her panties off.  "Come on, Billy Boy.  Dinner is
served."

He hesitated only another moment, then the sight of Lynn's beautiful
legs and thighs was too much for him.  He dropped to his knees in front
of her and began kissing the soft, perfumed flesh.  By the time he had
reached her pussy it was moist and bubbling with passion.  She locked
her hands in his hair, pulling his face hard against her steaming
crotch.

"I've never had the nerve to try that," Jack said, licking his lips and
watching with envy.

"Aw, come on," Kalola encouraged him.  "It don't bite."

He looked at her smooth, brown limbs and gaping, pink vulva surrounded
by a halo of black hair, then impulsively bent his head and timidly
touched her raw cunt flesh with the tip of his tongue.  He became
motionless with surprise.  Then, with a groan of long suppressed desire,
he began sucking and licking her greedily, if somewhat inexpertly.

Kalola turned her head on Ted's lap, unbuttoned him and took his cock
out.  "I get hungry, too," she laughed.  "Fuck me in the mouth, honey."

They were in those positions when Ellen came in with two of her surfer
friends.  "Looks like quite a party," she declared.  "Let's get in on
the fun.  Hey, what a bummer!  The booze is almost all gone.  Here,
Danny, take some money and go to the liquor store for more."  She went
to the drawer where the three girls had hidden the loot that she and
Lynn had accumulated and handed the young man two twenties.  "Better get
some grub, too." Then she removed her clothes and got down on the floor
on her hands and knees so that the other one could kneel behind her and
fuck her dog fashion.

Danny returned after a while with the liquor, some food and a dozen
friends of both sexes he had found sitting on the sea wall along
Kalakalua Avenue with nothing to do.

Kalola, who was temporarily disengaged from the sailors at the moment,
was delighted.  That the impromptu affair had grown to a full-fledged
party tickled her happy Hawaiian heart.

"Why don't we have a luau?" she cried and was cheered by the
enthusiastic response she received.  Obviously the house was not big
enough to accommodate a luau, so they took over the courtyard, around
the perimeter of which were the shacks that made up the Pacific Paradise
hotel.  "We don't have time to dig an imu and roast a pig," she said,
"but we can always get one catered from one of the big hotels."  More
people were dispatched with more money and instructions to bring back
all of the ingredients for a first-class native feast.  They were lucky.
One of the hotels had held a luau earlier that evening and it had not
been well attended.  The chef was most happy to dispose of the
leftovers, including most of a roast pig, pineapple, poi, limu, opihis,
roast kukui nuts, sweet potatoes and mullet all wrapped and still
steaming in the green leaves of the ti plant.  Liquor had been purchased
in copious quantities.  Willing hands quickly set up the feast, and the
happy crowd of revelers were joined by all of the inhabitants of the
Pacific Paradise Hotel.

There was food, booze and babes and the word spread through the streets
of that back-alley district of Waikiki known as "The jungle."  Guests
began to arrive in a steady stream.  They were clad in shorts, bikinis,
muumuus, beach robes and even nightgowns.  They brought ukeleles,
guitars and bongo drums.

It was not a quiet party.  Had Joe Moto been home, it would never have
gotten started.  Joe, however, chanced spending the evening with some
Japanese friends.  He had drunk much sake with them and had won quite a
bit of money at the gambling game known as "Hana Fudd."  So, as he
turned from Lewer's Street onto Kuhio Avenue, he was in a mellow and
even somewhat expansive mood.

"Someone having helluva party," he muttered as the sounds of wassail
reached him.  "Crazy Hawaiians always having a party.  Oh, well, what
the hell?  Why not have good time?"

Accordingly, he was somewhat less shocked than he might otherwise have
been when he reached his own property and saw that he had become the
unwitting host to the celebrants in question.  Still, his Oriental sense
of dignity and propriety was offended and he ran among the crowd, waving
his arms and demanding to know what was going on here.  He received no
coherent answer.  A blonde, bikini-clad girl he recognized as Ellen
Canfield thrust a glass into one of his hands and a piece of greasy pork
into the other.  She bid him a warm welcome to the party, kissed him on
the mouth and squeezed his cock through the front of his pants, then
disappeared in the crowd.  Before he could sputter a protest to this
assault, two other girls, giggling at his apparent bewilderment and
discomfiture, drew him down to sit beside them.  They urged him to drink
up, refilled his glass and made him sit while one of them thrust her
hand in through his fly and began playing with his prick and the other
took his arm, put it around her and snugged his hand up against her bare
breast.

Joe Moto tried to control his spinning senses as he attempted to
remember a certain saying he had once heard, and which seemed to apply
to this situation.  It seemed very important to recall it exactly and
word for word.  Ah, so!  Now he had it.  It was: "If you can't strike
'em, screw 'em."  No, that wasn't right.  Maybe it was: "If you can't
beat 'em, bugger 'em."  No, that wasn't it, either.  "Oh, fuck it!" he
said aloud.

"Sure," the girl holding his prick agreed eagerly.  "What fo' you think
I got my dress up to my ass fo', hunh?"

Two blocks away, the manager of an apartment house that catered only to
wealthy tourists, was annoyed by the noise that came from the Pacific
Paradise Hotel.  He called the police.  By sheer good luck the officers
dispatched to quell the riot happened to be men of mostly Hawaiian
blood.  They surveyed the wild but happy scene, reported back by radio
that the complaint had been grossly exaggerated, then joined the party.

The feast was over, but the fun was just starting.  The center of
attraction was Kalola.  Bare-footed, bare-assed and bare-breasted but
for a lei of white plumeria flowers, she danced for the crowd to the
accompaniment of ukuleles, guitars, bongo drums and shouts of drunken
encouragement.  She danced as she had never danced for the tourists or
in any night club, for she was doing the old dances, the genuine, native
dances of Hawaii.  Her swiftly and gracefully flowing hands were telling
a story that would have shocked beyond repair the missionaries who had
so smugly supposed that they had succeeded in converting and taming the
natives of Hawaii.  Even a tourist could hardly have failed to interpret
her gestures as she outlined her bouncing breasts, drew a hand up over
her pussy and, making a circle with thumb and forefinger, ran the index
finger of her other hand back and forth through it in graphic
description of the act of intercourse.

When she sank to the ground, her dance ended and her brown body gleaming
with sweat, a man grabbed her, flung himself onto her and stabbed his
cock into her up to the hair.

That was the signal for the orgy.  In a matter of moments, the courtyard
was littered with a heaving, bobbing tangle of arms, legs and buttocks.
The soft, tropical night was rent by screams and moans of delight, and
the great, golden globe of the moon rose over the edge of the sea to
bathe the scene in its ancient, mystic light.

Ellen was no longer homesick for the dirty pad in San Francisco.  She
was being passed from man to man at such a dizzying rate that there was
hardly an instant when her cunt, her ass or her mouth were not full of
cock.  Semen ran down her legs and her chin to gleam on her nude body,
and she was completely and wholly happy for the first time in her life.

Lynn was enjoying her favorite diversion in a fashion that satisfied her
thoroughly.  She had cornered six men and had them lined up on the
ground.  On hands and knees she went from one to the other, sucking
cocks like an industrious bee sipping the honey from flower after
flower.

Kalola, like Ellen, was being shared by everyone, including a group of
four soldiers who had arrived too late for the feast but not for the
festivities.

A young married couple from Iowa, out for an evening stroll, chanced to
pass the Pacific Paradise Hotel and, attracted by the sounds of
merriment, wandered in to see what was going on.  They soon found out.
Two muscular, half-naked natives whisked her away from her bridegroom,
had her under a hibiscus shrub, had her clothes off and were taking
turns with her before she could even set herself to scream.  When she
did get around to it, she was able only to mutter a muffled moan behind
the sweaty hand that held her mouth while her white body squirmed in the
moonlight and a long, smooth, brown cock was inserted into her cunt.  It
took her a while to realize that there was no escape and was going to be
no rescue.  It took her the same length of time to realize that what was
being done to her felt very good indeed.  When the first man was through
and got up from her, the second one found it unnecessary to hold her by
force.  She smiled up at him and helped guide his prick into her
throbbing slit.

Her husband, seeing his bride torn from his grasp, would have plunged
after her, had not a foot entwined with his, tripping him and hurling
him to the ground.  Before he could regain his feet, he was attacked by
a slender, nude body with flower-accented, tan flesh; a piquant face
with slanted eyes and ruby lips was poised over his.  He opened his
mouth to protest and a tongue was thrust between his lips while eager
fingers unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.  He was a modest young
man and would not have dreamed of standing up with his cock hanging out,
so there was nothing for him to do but remain there while a hot, moist
vagina closed over his organ.  He sighed then and relaxed.  He
remembered that the travel folder back in Sioux City had, after all,
promised: "Exotic adventures will surely be yours in these romantic
islands of the Pacific."

"I'll say one thing for you people out here," he told the girl who,
astride him, was pumping vigorously up and down on his prick, "when you
arrange a tour and make promises, you sure do keep them right to the
letter.  Wait until I tell the fellows back in--"

"No talk," the girl on him hissed.  "Just fucky-fucky."

*     *     *

Dawn's hot, gilding light replaced the cool radiance of the moon.  Even
the Myna birds, which normally held court on the lawn and vocalized the
daybreak with their shrill cries, were silent, stunned by the scene of
utter devastation.  The Dante-like debacle that spread before their
beady eyes was the result of the damnedest luau Waikiki had seen since
the days of King Kamekameha.  There were remnants of food, empty bottles
and numerous items of clothing scattered about all over the grass.
There were also a few discarded bodies ... discarded by all but their
owners, that is.  Under the shrubs that bordered the fence, face up in
the flowers by the walk, draped over porch steps and rails, even lying
grotesquely nude in the dry, concrete basin that had once been a fish
pond, brown, white and yellow bodies of various sizes and descriptions
festooned the courtyard.  Mostly they were still and quiet, although now
and then a fitful twitch of arms and legs, or a low, despairing moan
gave evidence that life still lingered.

Over the entire scene, almost as tangible as a miasmic mist rising from
a swamp, hung the rich aroma of that musk that emanates from the female
body when in heat, and the ranker, richer scent of drying semen.

Within Number Four, the three girls slept peacefully and sweetly, Kalola
on the living room floor with three sailors and two soldiers, Lynn on
one of the beds with five native men and Ellen in the other bedroom with
eight young surfers.

By noon, most of the revelers who had been left behind when the party
broke up, had aroused from their slumbers and, grinning widely to
themselves when they remembered what a hell of a party it had been, had
trudged home or to the beach.  The sailors, soldiers and surfers had
awakened, been reminded of other duties and appointments, and had gone
their ways, although some had lingered for one last bit of intercourse,
sodomy or oral-genital love depending on each one's personal preference
with the girls.

The girls, thus pleasantly aroused, took one look out of the front door,
shuddered and returned to the living room.

"Has anyone looked in the cash drawer yet?" Lynn asked.

"I'm afraid to," Ellen answered in a low, guilt-ridden tone.  "I seem to
remember giving money to lots of people to go to town for booze and
food."

"I looked," Kalola said.  "We're broke again."

No comments were made regarding this announcement, but the three avoided
each other's eyes in mutual guilt.

Ellen, still not saying anything, got up and went out.

"Oh, come on, Kalola," Lynn suggested at last, "let's take a shower.
We'll feel better.  Don't worry about it.  I've got a date with Tony,
and I'll bring home some money tonight."

They showered, put on fresh clothes and found enough leftovers in the
refrigerator to make a meal.  They had finished it and were again in the
living room, discussing the party in low, awed voices, wondering whether
their landlord would throw them out as a result and, if he did, who
would accept them with no money, when Ellen returned.

"We don't have to worry about the rent," she said.  "I just screwed Joe
Moto out of it for another month.  You won't believe this, but that
little bummer of a Jap is a hell of a good fuck.  And he isn't mad at us
at all.  He says we threw a party that will be talked about for years,
and that the publicity will keep the old Pacific Paradise Hotel going
for at least another season or two.  Maybe we should be in the public
relations business."

Chapter 7

Among those who had attended the party was one who had appreciated it
more than most, even though the reason for his appreciation was somewhat
less than esthetic.  Hoku Hamonu, known among his friends as "Wikiwiki",
was a beach boy.  He was from Hana, on the windward side of the island
of Maui, and was one of the very few natives of nearly pure Hawaiian
blood left in the islands.  His grandmother had claimed, with great
pride, to have been raped and impregnated by none other than Bully Hayes
himself, last of the freebooters who had once roamed the South Pacific.
The story may even have been true, for there was a touch of the pirate
in the make-up of Wikiwiki.

Not that it was readily apparent.  His protective coloration was
perfect.  He wore his wavy, black hair short, scorning the girlish hair
styles of the mainland youth so widely copied by most of the beach boys
at Waikiki, and all of the well-muscled, cookie-with-cream complexioned,
two hundred pounds of his lazy, six-foot frame exuded a kind of
smoldering and indolent masculine sexuality.  He was so good-looking he
would have been considered a "pretty boy" had he been less obviously and
blatantly male.  Superficially at least, he appeared to be a guileless,
happy-go-lucky, good-natured but shiftless slob who happened to be very
good at his chosen career of guide, swimming and surfing instructor, and
male prostitute.  As a matter of fact, Wikiwiki was possessed of a mind
that was one-third steel trap and two-thirds calculating machine.  As he
lolled on the beach, hands clasped behind his fine head, his innocent
brown eyes fixed on the distant, heat-shimmering horizon, his mind was
busily at work on the problem of the three girls who lived in Number
Four at the Pacific Paradise Hotel.

Being a man who recognized talent when he saw it, he considered the
girls only a problem to the extent that they had a certain genius that
was going woefully and shamefully to waste, a genius he felt would be
better and more profitably put to work enhancing the life and filling
the wallet of Hoku Hamonu, known as Wikiwiki.

At the party the night before, he had consumed less liquor than most,
although he had taken an active part in the ensuing fun and games.  From
the vantage point of relative sobriety, he had deduced that the girls in
question were not rich, although they had spent money like drunken
sailors.  Handling money wisely was not, he decided, one of their many
virtues.  No matter.  People who could throw such an amazingly and
spectacularly successful party (impromptu at that) had no need of other
talents.  What those girls needed, he saw, was the fatherly guidance of
a man.  Besides, he also perceived that in gathering them to his
protective and manly bosom he would be acquiring a ready-made harem, and
he was thoroughly fed up with making love to the fat, middle-aged
tourist ladies who were his usual victims.

His decision made, Wikiwiki arose from his reclining position on the
sand and sauntered slowly but purposefully in the direction of the
Pacific Paradise Hotel.  He didn't bother to knock but mounted the
rotting steps to the porch and lounged in the open doorway.  He arrived
just as Ellen finished announcing her seduction of Joe Moto.

"Hi," Wikiwiki said.

Three pairs of eyes, brown, blue and green, opened wide at the sight of
his handsome face, broad shoulders and massive muscles.

"Hi, yourself, gorgeous," Lynn replied.  "The party is over but you're
welcome."

"Take your trunks off and come in," Kalola invited.

"Hold on, you two," Ellen objected.  "I saw him first."

"Ladies!" Wikiwiki exclaimed, holding up a hand as if to fend off
imminent attack.  "Let us remember our manners.  I'll be most happy to
service you one at a time, but no unseemly conduct, please."  He had
decided that the colorful pidgin that was part of his act when dealing
with rich tourists would be wasted on these babes, so he spoke, instead,
in the English he had learned while a student at U.C.L.A.

"I have a proposition for you.  No, no!  Not that kind!  Oh well, all
right ... pleasure before business, if you insist.  Then, when I have
satisfied your animal appetites, I will tell you how you are going to
make us all rich."

"Oh, we'll love being rich," Lynn agreed.  "But, for right now, why
don't you remove your trunks?  We want you to be comfortable."

"Let me help you," Kalola suggested eagerly.

"Me, too," Ellen offered, showing more enthusiasm than was customary
with her.

Wikiwiki sighed and allowed the girls to roll his swim trunks down over
his hips.  He gazed upon them with fond indulgence as they went into
raptures of delight over his long, brown cock with its bulbous,
businesslike head.

"Did you ever see such a set of nuts?" Lynn demanded, cupping his
scrotum in her hand and hefting the Brobdingnagian balls.

"If you ladies don't mind," he said, gently disengaging six avid hands
from his genitals, "I'll first administer to the little blonde."

Ellen's blue eyes sparkled as she jerked her muumuu off over her head.
She seemed undaunted by Kalola's catty suggestion that it was obvious
Wikiwiki wanted to save the best for the last.

"Come now, little one," Wikiwiki said when Ellen stood naked before him.
"Join me in this comfortable chair."  He sat down, drew her to him and,
lifting her easily by her hips, set her on his lap so that she was
facing him, her cunt, so recently used by Joe Moto, poised over the head
of the now stiff prick that had swollen and hardened to twice its former
girth and length.  He continued to hold her out to the full extent of
his arms, as a man might do it examining a painting he considered
purchasing.

"You're a beautifully constructed bit of ass," he commented.  "I hope
all of the men who have had you have appreciated the fine points of your
body: the delicate shape of your tits, the cute, little curve of your
tummy, your really magnificent thighs, and this delicious, pink snatch
that is now kissing the head of my cock.  Shall we let them get better
acquainted?"  He lowered her so that only the head disappeared into her
body.

"For chrissake, quit teasing," Ellen said to him.  "I want that big
thing stuck up in me so far it comes out between my tonsils."

"Tsk, tsk," he clucked at her, shaking his head.  "I see you have a lot
to learn about the fine art of fornication.  Slow and easy is better.  I
raped a blonde chick at your party last night.  All her husband had ever
done was to hump hell out of her as fast as possible.  But even rape
must be done gently and lingeringly.  Before she left she looked me up
and asked me for another date.  Now, because you've been a good girl and
have listened without interrupting, I will let you have another inch.
Isn't that nice?"

Kalola and Lynn, breathless with suspense, were watching intently.

"Oh, my God!" Ellen groaned, "what the hell are you doing to me?  I
never felt like this before in my life.  It's barely in but it feels
like it's dancing inside me."

"Only throbbing," Wikiwiki explained.  "It is excited and hungry for
you, too.  I have tried to teach it patience, but it is slow to learn."

He took thirty minutes to lower Ellen all of the way so that she was
finally sitting on his thighs, his cock in her up to his balls.  By that
time, she was a nervous wreck, a mass of insanely tingling nerves, and
his body no sooner came in contact with her clitoris than she exploded
into a violent orgasm.  Smiling smugly, he continued to hold her while
she climaxed, then began lifting and lowering her with his powerful arms
and hands, occasionally bending her toward him so as to kiss her
writhing mouth or nibble at her bouncing breasts.  When he finally grew
tired of this, he held her snugly against him and rotated his strong
hips to drive his cock in and out of her in a slow, perfectly timed
rhythm.  The watching girls, hearing the familiar, wet, slushy sound of
semen, knew that he had at last deigned to complete the act and to honor
their hippie friend by filling her cunt with cum.  He released her, and
she slid from his lap to the floor where she lay on her back, her eyes
closed and moaning softly.

Wikiwiki smiled at Lynn and Kalola.  "Who's next?"

"But you just did it!" Kalola protested.  "How can you ..."

"I see it's still hard," Lynn pointed out.  "Amazing!"

"Oh, I'm always good for three or more on one erection," Wikiwiki
explained carefully.  "How about you, Red?"

"I'd like to suck you," she told him.  "It's the most beautiful cock
I've ever seen, and putting a lovely thing like that in my pussy seems a
sacrilege.  May I?"

"Be my guest," he replied graciously, "but let's not hurry.  I would
first like to see you undressed and do a little petting with you.  I
suspect your figure is even superior to that of the blonde ... riper and
more lush."

Kalola looked disappointed, but she didn't say anything as Lynn took her
clothes off and sat on Wikiwiki's lap, his cock between her legs.  They
kissed and ran their hands over each other.  He murmured extravagant
compliments but, although Lynn had figured by this time that he was full
of bull, she also knew that he meant the things he said to her, at least
in part.  As any woman would have done, she enjoyed hearing her breasts,
her face and her legs described in glowing terms, and she liked it even
better when he kissed each place as he spoke of it.

"I have a cute asshole, too," she said, laughing at him.

"Let's see," he said, turning her over and spreading the cheeks of her
buttocks.  "You sure do," he agreed.  "You didn't think I'd kiss it, did
you?"  It was his turn to laugh as he ducked down and kissed her very
thoroughly, then let his tongue curl up and around until it was licking
at her vulva and he was sucking up the musky juices that seeped from her
passion-throbbing cunt.  Just when his tongue had found her clitoris and
had given it a friendly lap or two, and she had begun to believe that he
intended to make her come, he pulled his head from between her thighs
and, changing his position, presented the head of his prick to her
mouth.  Eagerly her red lips closed over it.

"Easy," he cautioned her.  "Make it last."

She tried, but she was so anxious he had to push her away from it from
time to time to delay the final climax.  His reason for doing this was
not entirely selfish.  He knew she was boiling with passion, not only as
a result of his caresses but from the vicarious thrill she had received
by watching him make love to Ellen.

"Rub your thighs together and hunch yourself like you were being
fucked," he instructed her.  She blindly obeyed and found that the
action caused the mucus-slick lips of her vulva to agitate her clitoris.
Before another minute had passed, she was having an orgasm of
unprecedented strength.  It came just as his prick began to jerk in her
mouth, spurting loads of semen into her throat.

"How about my turn?" Kalola asked as Lynn rolled away, so drained by the
discharge of physical and emotional tension that she was nearly
unconscious.  The little dancer had stripped out of her clothes and now
she rubbed herself against him, purring and squirming like a cat in
beat.

"Sure," Wikiwiki agreed, grinning happily.  "I wanted to fuck you last
night, but there were too many guys in line ahead of me.  As they used
to say at U.C.L.A.: 'You're built like a brick shithouse.'  Back in the
old days, I'll bet you would have been the number one girl at the court
of Kamekameha.  The old boy would have fucked you every night and twice
on Sundays."

"Do you think the old days would have been better?" she asked him.  She
was rubbing her nipples across his face and she had his prick between
her legs, massaging it lovingly.

"No," he replied, digging his fingers into the resilient, brown flesh of
her ass.  "I think it's more fun now.  In those days, I'd have spent
most of my time out on the reef, fishing.  Now all I have to do is lay
around the beach, screw white women and take their money.  You're very
athletic and supple.  Can you stand up and touch your toes?"

"Sure I can," Kalola said.  "Watch this."  She stood up and reached down
to put both hands flat on the floor.

"That's fine," Wikiwiki applauded.  "Just hold that pose." He stepped
behind her, placed a hand on either side of her hips and began pushing
his cock into her.

"Hey!" Kalola said, "you got it in my asshole."

"I know," he replied evenly.  "After all the screwing you did last
night, I thought your cunt might be tired.  Don't you like it this way?"

"Yeh, but it's the biggest one I ever had in my brownie.  Gosh, I can
feel it getting even bigger!  You gonna come so soon ... right after
already doing it twice with Ellen and Lynn?"

"Yes.  Doing it excites me ... makes it harder for me to hold back."
With one more lunge he began to squirt into her, and she could feel the
hot stuff against the sensitive wall of her anus.  Excess semen ran down
the back of her legs.  She straightened when he withdrew.  To her
surprise, he caught her small body in his arms, flipped her end over and
stood her on her head, then stopped to push his face between her thighs
and, holding her erect but upside down, he began to vigorously suck her
clitoris.  When she came, she felt like a fountain or a geyser that
shoots straight up into the air.  It was a strange but wonderful
sensation and she was delighted that he continued, making her come over
and over again until she was weak from the tension and dizzy from her
inverted position.  When he finally lowered her gently to the floor, she
passed out, her supine body appearing as limp and lifeless as that of a
doll as she lay across the equally inert forms of the other girls.

"Now how can I talk business with them when they're crapped out like
that?" Wikiwiki complained, shaking his head.  Then he remembered that
he had a date with the young tourist girl he had raped the night before.
"Oh, well," he said aloud, "I can always see them later.  I think I'll
only ask the tourist girl for fifty dollars.  I'm worth more, of course,
but I don't want to scare her away.  She's very beautiful, and playing
around with these girls has gotten me turned on."  He put his swim
trunks back on and returned to his own shack where he donned white
trousers and a blue aloha shirt.  On the way out of the yard he picked a
flower from the plumeria tree and tucked the stem into his thick, black
hair above his ear.  Thus attired in his Sunday best, he went to keep
his date with the tourist girl.

*     *     *

Lynn sat up slowly and shook her head, her expression one of dazed
bewilderment.  It took several minutes for her to arouse the other
girls.

"Tell me," she demanded, "did I dream all this, or did some
fantastically beautiful giant come in here, promise to make us all rich,
and then, single-handed, fuck us all into insensibility?"

"You didn't dream it," Ellen assured her.  "He accomplished in two hours
more than all those soldiers and sailors could do in a night.  Or, as
you say, 'single-handed'."

"More like single-pricked," Kalola corrected them.  "Maybe he wasn't
real.  Maybe he is one of the old Hawaiian gods come back to life."

"Real enough for me," Ellen stated, looking down at the froth of drying
semen fringing her pubic hair.

The girls discussed their mysterious visitor the rest of the afternoon
until Lynn remembered that she had a date with Tony.  She hurriedly
showered, changed and ran to the bus stop.  She was only a few minutes
late when she entered the room on the top floor.  She was surprised to
find the door already unlocked.

Tony was there, on the bed.  His naked body, huge and black, was still,
his open eyes staring at the ceiling.  Lynn's mouth opened, and she
started to scream in terror when she saw the wound in his chest from
which the blood still oozed sluggishly and the red tide rolled across
the white spread to drop in a widening pool on the floor.

Her scream was cut off by the shock of seeing a small woman with slanted
eyes hurl herself from a closet, a red-stained butcher knife in her
hand.  Lynn did not need to understand the sputtering stream of Japanese
words to know that this would be Tony's wife, that the woman had already
committed murder and was bent on doubling her score.

Lynn did the natural and instinctive thing.  She ducked and sidestepped
the first lunge, then turned and ran.  She went the length of the hall,
down the stairs and out onto the street, not more than one jump ahead of
Mrs. Nunez.  Taking full advantage of her longer legs, she raced through
the business district of Pearl City with her deadly pursuer close on her
heels.  The only thing that saved her life was the fact that Orientals
in the islands are, by and the large, conscientiously law abiding.  Lynn
fled across an intersection on an amber traffic light, but Mrs. Nunez
arrived just as the light turned red.  From force of long habit, she
dutifully stopped and was still standing there when a policeman
approached her and asked her what she was doing on the main street with
a bloody butcher knife.  While he was interviewing her, Lynn disappeared
in the crowd and went through a store that fronted on two streets.
Emerging from the opposite entrance, she caught a bus and returned to
Waikiki.

Mrs. Nunez convinced the policeman that she had been butchering a goat
when she suddenly remembered she had forgotten to purchase any sushi for
supper.  She had not remembered to lay the knife down before sallying
forth on this innocent mission.

Her brother, the gangster, arranged to have Tony's body disappear, and
the word was spread around that the big man had gone to the mainland,
deserting his wife and five children.

The police were the only ones in Pearl City who were not in on the open
secret that Tony's wife had murdered him.  Never a popular woman before
her impulsive deed, she now became a favorite among the Japanese on
Oahu.  They expressed their approval of her by inviting her to all of
their weddings, christenings and funerals.  She was the guest of honor
at the ceremony celebrating the opening of the new Buddhist temple.

Chapter 8

Lynn was genuinely sorry for the loss of her Portuguese lover and
equally disturbed over the abrupt termination of her sole source of
income.  She wondered if she was, after all, a born loser.  She had
failed at marriage, at blackmail, and her most promising career, that of
prostitution, had been disappointingly brief.  Now that she stopped to
think about it, she had been a lousy teacher, too, she admitted
ruefully.  There ought to be something she could do successfully.  One
could hardly put an advertisement in the local paper: "Cocks expertly
sucked.  $5.00 per orgasm.  Satisfaction guaranteed."

Ellen and Kalola were duly sympathetic when she related her disastrous
adventure of the evening.

"That leaves us right back where we started," Kalola stated gloomily.

"Yeah, even my deal with Joe Moto is a bummer," Ellen put in.  "I can
pay the rent by going to bed with him every day, but he wants exclusive
rights to me.  He says if he finds out I'm doing any fucking on the
side, he'll toss us all out on our asses."

"I don't know what we're going to do," Lynn sighed.

"Why, we're all going to the island of Maui.  That's what we're going to
do," said a voice from the front porch, and the three girls gave squeals
of delight as Wikiwiki opened the screen door and came into the room.

"Wiki!" Kalola cried, immediately beginning to divest herself of her
skirt and blouse.  "The gods must have sent you!  We were all feeling so
blue and now you come to cheer us up.  Take off your pants."

"Nothing doing," Wikiwiki declared firmly, placing a huge hand between
her nakedly bouncing breasts to hold her off.  "No sex until we have
talked business.  That goes for you two as well.  Lynn, please unhand my
cock and, Ellen, pull your skirt back down."

"Oh, all right," Lynn agreed ungraciously.  "What's this about Maui?
What's over there?"

"The new, multimillion-dollar hotel and resort, 'The Hotel Hale-
Kaahumanu'," Wikiwiki replied, seating himself in the best chair in the
house and determinedly crossing his legs.  "You haole chicks are new to
the islands, so you may not have heard of the Hale-Kaahumanu, and it was
built while Kalola was on the mainland, so maybe she doesn't know about
it either.  Well, here is the story.  The hotel is part of a chain that
has places like it in nearly every resort spot on earth.  The owner is a
rich slob from New York named Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff.  He came out
here on vacation three years ago, bought up some property near Lahina
and started construction.  The Hale-Kaahumanu has been open a month and
it's already in bad trouble.  The cause of this bad trouble is Elmer
McFarthingale, the hotel manager.  Elmer is a jerk, but he got the job
because he is engaged to Evangeline Barrington-Phaff, the owner's nutty
daughter.  Evangeline was a jet-set party girl and a real swinger until
she suddenly got religion about a year ago.  The Rasputin in her life is
one Mathew Longworth, The Church of the Blood of our Savior.  Anyway,
Evangeline, influenced by this Longworth kook, is the real boss of the
new hotel, and she's turned it into a Sunday School.  She even makes
poor Elmer require young couples to show a marriage license before
accepting their reservations."

Kalola shuddered.  "What a horrible place!  What would we go there for?"

Wikiwiki grinned fondly.  "To take it over.  Look, old Barrington-Phaff
isn't a bad guy for a haole, but he doesn't know what's going on.  He
turned the whole thing over to his son-in-law-to-be.  I think it's our
duty to step in there and save his investment for him.  Of course, as a
reward we wind up running the hotel and Elmer will be out on his fanny.
Here's how we go about it: One of my cousins is the surfing instructor
there, and he's screwing the wife of the man who runs the personnel
office and does all the hiring.  I can get us all jobs ... me as a
lifeguard and you three in the kitchen.  You start out by screwing the
chef and you soon fuck your way into better and better jobs until,
before you know it, you are so important to the operation that the hotel
can't run without you.  Then, when the time is right, wham!  We take
over.  What do you say?"

"I guess so," Lynn said, frowning.  "How do we know when the time is
right, and how do we go about taking over?"

"You leave that to me," Wikiwiki said, tapping the side of his head to
indicate that there, somewhere under his beautiful shock of curly, black
hair, reposed all the brains that could possibly be required for an
undertaking of this sort.

"Okay," Lynn replied, obviously relieved.  "But can we do a little
whoring on the side as we go along?  I hardly got started as a chippy
when Tony died.  I hate to give it up."

"By all means," Wikiwiki assured her.  "That's exactly the sort of thing
that a resort hotel needs to liven it up and make it a success.  People
don't come here from the mainland just to look at palm trees and eat
pineapples.  When I'm manager, all the hotel employees will be dedicated
to the entertainment of the customers.  Just be discreet at first, until
we get Elmer and his silly fiancee, Evangeline, out of the way."

"Now that that's settled," Ellen said, "how about taking care of us?
You promised."

"No, I didn't," Wikiwiki denied.  "I said there would be no sex until we
were through discussing business, but I can't accommodate you myself.  I
have to work tonight to raise money for our trip to Maui tomorrow.
However, just to show you that I am a thoughtful person, I brought some
friends who will be glad to fix you up."  He put his fingers to his
mouth and whistled shrilly.  The screened door instantly popped open,
and three beach boys burst into the room.

"I want the fat one!" Lynn cried.  "You like getting your cock sucked,
lover boy?"

Leaving the girls to enjoy themselves, Wikiwiki slipped out into the
night and hurried back to the hotel room where he had left the blonde
tourist.  He had lied to his new partners.  He had plenty of money, but
the slender, delicate bride fascinated him and he had not yet had enough
of her.

He didn't even bother knocking at her door this time, but pushed it open
and went on in.  She was in bed with her husband.  He was awkwardly
making love to her and neither of them heard Wikiwiki's bare feet on the
carpet.  The beach boy politely waited until they had finished, then
tapped the husband on the shoulder.  The startled man looked up to see a
bronzed giant towering over him and shaking his head in disapproval.

"You do not do it right," Wikiwiki said.  "You go sit in chair and I
show you mo' bettah how fucky-fucky."

"What?" the husband screeched, both in fear and indignation.  "What are
you doing in here?  This is our room.  You get out.  Go on, before I
call the police."

Wikiwiki still stood there, regarding the husband with sorrowful
contempt.  "Why fo' yo' haole guy come Hawaii fo' vacation?" he
demanded.  "To fucky yo' own wife?  Tsk, tsk.  Yo' gonna be long time
married same gal.  How many times on mainland yo' gonna get chance fucky
cute native chick, hunh?"

"But ... but ... we're just married!" the man protested.  "We're on our
honeymoon.  Besides, why should I let you fuck my wife.  It's not ...
why, it's not even decent!"

His wife laughed.  "Robert," she giggled, "you're absolutely hopeless.
The other night when those beach boys took me away from you and I told
you afterward they were just being playful and that all they did was
teach me an old Hawaiian game played at luaus, you were really stupid
enough to believe me, weren't you?  What a dope.  As a matter of fact,
they very thoroughly raped me and it was lovely.  Then Wikiwiki spent
two hours with me earlier this evening.  You really should do as he
says.  You should sit over there in a chair and watch an expert.  You
could use a little instruction, you know."

Robert was shocked.  "You mean you actually let this man make love to
you?  And now you're bragging about it ... right to my face?"

"You better believe it," she replied feelingly.  "Don't act so prissy.
I suppose you think I don't know about the Chinese girl you had at the
party.  And where were you today while Wikiwiki was here?  Why don't you
be a dear and go out on the town.  I'll bet you could pick up one of
these pretty brown girls and have yourself a ball.  Like he says, how
often will we ever have a chance to do anything like this back in Iowa?"

Her husband considered her suggestion thoughtfully.  "I suppose you're
right," he murmured.  "You really don't mind, dear?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked, laughing.  "If you could see this guy with
his pants off, you wouldn't ask me if I mind.  Now will you please quit
yakking about it and get the hell out of the bed so Wikiwiki can get
in?"

Robert got up then and began dressing.  When he was ready to go out, he
paused at the door and looked back.  There was a tangle of naked brown
and white limbs already thrashing frantically at the bed.

"You certainly have changed since I met you at the Methodist-Christian
Youth Rally in Sioux City," he said, but the only answer from the bed
was the sibilant hiss of heavy breathing and the protesting squeak of
the bedsprings.

He closed the door softly behind him as he left.  As he walked down the
hall to the elevator, he was thinking that Doris was a very sweet girl,
even though she had turned out to be bolder and somewhat more
adventurous than he had supposed.  He wondered if the International
Market Place was still open.  There had been a cute native girl there
who had given him the eye earlier that day.  Yes, Hawaii was a wonderful
place and everything the travel folders had promised.  Perhaps Doris
would agree to returning every year for their vacation.

Wikiwiki withdrew his cock from the sucking embrace of the girl's pussy
and, turning quickly on the bed, he thrust the head of it between her
lips.  From the way she gagged and sputtered, he knew this was a new
experience for her ... that she'd probably never heard of such a thing
before.  Fine.  He liked the role of instructor to the young and
innocent.  He'd teach her even more.  He jammed his tongue into her,
wishing, as he often did, that it was as long as his prick.  Her skin
was so white, so fragile.  Her inner thighs were as soft on his cheeks
as the caress of a gardenia-scented breeze, and his nose was filled with
the perfumed aroma of her musk.  What a shame for a jerk like Robert to
have won a prize like this!  After he became manager of the Hale-
Kaahumanu, he would write to her.  By that time she would be sick of
Robert and he could talk her into coming back to Hawaii to stay.  She
would make a fine addition to his harem and he knew she would be glad to
become a hustler for his sake.

Doris didn't know what to make of having her mouth filled with prick,
but as it began to slide smoothly back and forth over her tongue, well
lubricated by pre-orgasmic jism, she decided she didn't really mind at
all.  She stroked his legs, smelling the warm sand and sea scent of them
and loved the feel of his softly haired scrotum thudding rhythmically
against her nose, and she adored what he was doing to her with his
mouth.  She felt him suck the membranous flesh of her vulva between his
teeth while his tongue did a little dance on the button of her clitoris.
He had found her anus with one finger and was forcing the puckery,
tightly muscled orifice to yield to him.  Suddenly his finger shot into
her.  The pain was excruciating and yet infinitely thrilling, magnifying
her passion and creating in her a white-hot frenzy of lust.  He fucked
his finger in and out of her and she loved it, wishing it was as large
as his cock as she strained her slender body toward him, lifting her
lovely legs into the air to spread herself even more for him.

Just before she began to come and at the same time to swallow rapidly as
his sperm filled her mouth, she determined that she and Robert would
return to Hawaii every year for their vacation.  If Robert didn't want
to come with her, to hell with him.  She wondered if Wikiwiki would
someday consent to let her stay with him.  Maybe he would if she offered
to become a whore and give him all the money she would make.  She would
write to him after she went home to Sioux City.  Perhaps she could
convince him.

*     *     *

The grounds of the Hale-Kaahumanti were a beautiful and gracious example
of tropical landscaping and made up in part for the cold unloveliness of
the towering edifice of glass and steel that rose, tier upon tier, above
the surrounding cane fields on the edge of Lahina.

It was not the happy, bustling, prosperous place it could have been.
There was a sad, hushed hollowness to the sound of footfalls in its
nearly empty halls and an air of solemn, funeral morbidity to its dining
room.  There was music.  Sound poured from many speakers, but not the
lively beat of The Hawaiian War Chant.  No, the listeners were, instead,
treated to muted strains from Wagner's Tannhauser.

"This place gives I me the creeps," Lynn said for the hundredth time
since she, her girl friends and Wikiwiki had arrived there a week
before.  She was off-duty from her job as salad maker and was lounging
on the tiny section of beach reserved for employees.  The man with her
was Koko, the half-Japanese bell captain.  He was a pudgy, soft-looking
person, with a roll of fat above the top of his trunks and slanted eyes
so slitted in his moon face that the irises were invisible.

"It isn't very lively," he admitted.  "I don't think it will remain open
for long if the owner's daughter continues to influence Mr.
McFarthingale.  The only guests we've attracted so far are people so old
that all they want is quiet.  It's like a rest home for the nearly
dead."

"How about Mr. Martin in Sixteen?" Lynn asked.  "He's not over sixty."

Koko shrugged.  "He's leaving tomorrow.  Shame, too.  He's the only
tipper in the place.  I'd find another job if I could.  He rang for ice
water this morning and when I took it up to him, he hinted around that
he'd enjoy a little female companionship and there'd be a few bucks in
it for me if I could supply him.  I had to let him know the policy of
the hotel is dead set against that sort of thing.  He got mad and told
me he was checking out.  Hell of a place."

Lynn sat up, her eyes glowing with interest.  "He did?  Look, Koko, why
don't you use your influence to get me transferred to the room service
staff?  You get me a job as maid and I'll guarantee that Martin won't
leave.  How's that?"

Koko looked surprised.  "You'd let the old fart have a little ... for
money?  If anyone found out, and it got back to Evangeline, she'd fire
me."

"Aw, come on.  Take a chance."

"I don't know.  I don't think I better."

"Maybe I can change your mind for you," Lynn said as she looked around
to make sure they were alone on the beach, then reached behind her to
unsnap her halter top.  Her beautiful breasts, starkly white against the
tan of her torso, stood out defiantly and she wiggled her body, making
them dance enticingly.  She heard Koko's sharp gasp.

"I could be very nice to you if you would get me that new job," she
suggested, smiling at him.  To prove it, she unbuttoned the bottom part
of her sun suit and began rolling it down over her lush hips.  "How
about it?"

Koko licked his lips and began to perspire.  "I'm a married man," he
said, "and I've been true to my wife, but I've never fucked a white girl
and I've always wanted to try it.  Will you let me do something special
with you if I agree?"

"Sure.  What's your perversion?"

Koko winced.  "We could go up there in those bushes," he whispered
hoarsely.  "I could cut a small switch.  I'd like to whip you on the
fanny before we do it.  My wife won't let me do that."

"Just don't mark me," Lynn cautioned him.  "I want a nice, smooth ass
for Mr. Martin, you know."

"All right," Koko affirmed eagerly.  "Let's go."

They walked up the beach to the stand of brush, and Lynn lay on the warm
sand while he broke off a slender switch.  He knelt on the ground beside
her and she heard it whistle through the air before it touched her
buttocks with a streak of fire.  She began to regret her bargain, but
remembered that Wikiwiki was counting on her, so she clenched her teeth
and determined to endure the pain of the flagellation.  Again and again
he struck her.  Just when she thought she could no longer stand it, she
became aware that the agony seemed to diminish now with each stroke.
Soon the blows had entirely lost their sting, and instead she noticed a
tingling thrill that ran through her each time he applied the switch to
her skin.  It was, she thought, something like the time she had taken a
tablet of Ellen's LSD.  The beating was somehow making her come more
alive, increasing and expanding her awareness.  She saw the sand a few
inches from her face with startling clarity, felt the slight, on-shore
breeze in a new and different way and the smell of the sea was a heady,
pungent aroma she had never before noticed.  She was also more aware of
her own body and its nakedness.  She was acutely conscious of how she
must look to him, all of her back, her buttocks and her lower body
exposed to his gaze.  It thrilled her in a strange way she had never
before known.  She impulsively spread her legs, wanting him to see her
cunt and her asshole.  Her clitoris was throbbing as though each blow of
the whip was a finger or a tongue stroking it avidly.  She wondered if
she was going to come.

"Now I'm ready," Koko panted.  "Turn over."

"Oh, yes!  Yes!" she breathed, tormented with passion and desire as she
flung herself over on her back, having to restrain herself from
screaming with joy as he mounted her and thrust his cock into her with
one savage lunge.

It was a thing done convulsively and jerkily, done in the red, swirling
mist of a lust that burned them both and drove them at each other like
two mad animals in the frenzy of their heat.  It was over quickly, but
was so intense that Lynn feared she would die in the blazing fires of
the orgasm that shook her every nerve and muscle.

While he lay panting on her exhausted body, his cock still in her, she
put her hand under one of her breasts and lifted a nipple to his mouth,
indicating by the urgency with which she crushed her soft yet firm
abundance against his face that she wanted him to bite her.  He obliged
her, and she knew one more thrill of dying passion as his teeth crushed
down on the magenta delicacy.

He raised his head and, for the first time, she could see his eyes.
They gleamed at her strangely, still clouded with lust, remote and
somehow excitingly evil.

"You liked it, didn't you?" he asked her.  He sounded as though he
thought that an unbelievable miracle.

"I loved it!" she breathed.

"It's better with a belt," he told her, "and there is another way ...
with the end of a wet towel.  The towel hurts like hell and leaves red
welts, but they disappear in an hour."

"I want to do it every way you know," she told him.  "You can make up
some kind of a story for your wife and come to my room at night."

"If I had the nerve, I would kill my wife.  That is why we have no
children ... she won't let me whip her and that is the only way I can
get an erection.  She doesn't care.  She is a cold bitch.  I have
dreamed about taking her far out on the beach, where no one could hear
her scream, and having a really good time with her."

Lynn shuddered.  "You better not," she said.  "You might get caught.
You can come to my room and use a belt or towel on me whenever you feel
like it.  Will you get me on as a maid?  I'll give you a percentage of
what I get from Martin, or any other man in the hotel."

"Sure.  I can fix it this afternoon.  Can I whip you again now?"

"Oh, yes!  Please do!"

*     *     *

That evening, dressed in her new costume as a maid, Lynn went to Room
Sixteen.  She knocked lightly on the door and went in before the white-
haired man on the bed could answer.  "Oh," she exclaimed, pretending to
be surprised to see him lying there, his puffy, corpulent body clothed
only in underwear.  "I didn't know you were in, Mr. Martin.  I just
wanted to tidy up a bit in here.  Don't bother to get up, sir.  I'll
only be a minute."  She turned her back on him and bent from the waist
to pick up some lint from the carpet.  She was well aware that the
action exposed her legs and the backs of her thighs to the lacy fringe
of her panties.  She took her time with the lint and, when she
straightened up, she was flushed from the effort.

"My but I envy you," Lynn said.  "You certainly look nice and cool that
way.  Goodness!  There's another piece of lint." She bent again so that
the backs of her legs were pressed against the edge of the bed.  When
she felt his flabby old hand tentatively touch her thigh she held still,
letting him explore, then came slowly erect and gave him a dimpled smile
over her shoulder.  "Your hand feels good there," she assured him.
"It's so cool."

"One way to beat the heat, eh, girlie?" he cackled.  "I guess that dumb
Jap finally got on the ball.  Next thing is whether you can get me a
hard-on or not.  I'm not as young as I used to be and I sometimes have
trouble that way."

"I don't charge any more to suck it," Lynn suggested, "and I'll bet that
will get you excited.  Wait a moment and I'll take my clothes off.  Then
we can have a real nice time."

"Suits me.  I'll pay you whether I come or not.  You're a beauty.
Having you will be worth it, no matter what happens."

As Lynn knelt on the bed and took his white, limp cock in her mouth, she
was remembering the hot sands of the beach and Koko's slitty, evil,
thrilling eyes as he had begun whipping her the second time.

She could hardly wait for night.

Chapter 9

Of the nine guests at the Hale-Kaahumanu, only seven were of the paying
variety.  The other two were the owner's daughter, Evangeline
Barrington-Phaff and the man who had changed her from a fun-loving,
free-wheeling, jet-set playgirl-about-town to an other-worldly, mystic,
religious nut--the Reverend Matthew Longworth.  He had left his flock of
converts in New York to follow her to the island of Maui ... all
expenses paid, of course.  Let it not be supposed, however, that he was
in it just for the free room and board and the several thousand dollars
a month he managed to cozen her out of.  Not at all.  He was also quite
madly in love with her.  He was tormented by the fact that it was, as
far as he knew, an unrequited love.  Never having confessed this human
weakness to her, he could not be absolutely sure that she would not be
responsive.  He was sure beyond any doubt that her father had no use for
him whatsoever, either as a man or as a prospective son-in-law, and only
tolerated him as a minister because of what the old man hoped was his
daughter's temporary mental affliction.

Caught thus in a sticky web largely of his own making Longworth was not
a happy man.  Should he go on bended knee before Evangeline, plead his
cause and try to beat McFarthingale's time with her, risking the chance
that she would not only reject him but also be disillusioned with him as
her spiritual leader?  This could cost him a tidy bit of cash should she
order him to split the scene.  On the other hand, suppose she accepted
him ... what of Papa Barrington-Phaff?  The old bastard was perfectly
capable of booting them out into the cold, cruel world.  What then?
Work?  He shuddered at the thought.  No, better to let things go as they
were for the time being at least, go on suffering in silence, hoping
that Elmer McFarthingale would fortuitously expire from some loathsome
and rare tropical disease and that Evangeline's father might then
undergo a change of heart.

At the moment, he was sitting in Evangeline's room, watching her comb
her long, golden-blonde hair.  Well he was not really looking at her
hair.  His attention rather was centered on that place where the front
of her dressing gown had been left carelessly open.  He stared in
breathless fascination as the movements of her arms opened and closed
the gap in the gown, alternately revealing and hiding one full,
gorgeously round breast and part of the other.  If only she would brush
just a bit more vigorously, or perhaps lean a little forward, he was
sure he could catch sight of the nipple.  Ah!  There!  This time for
sure!  Oh, hell!  She had straightened her back the tiniest bit of an
inch necessary to spoil the view he had so anticipated.  Although the
room was air-conditioned, his forehead was beaded with perspiration.  In
the crotch of his pants, gripped firmly between his legs to hide it, his
cock was like a throbbing iron bar.

"Elmer has been after me again about entertainment," Evangeline was
saying.  "I suppose we should have something of the sort, but finding
entertainers in this terrible, pagan, savage country is nearly
impossible.  All they know are their sinful, wicked, native dances and
their coarse, vulgar songs.  I just don't know what to do.  What do you
think?"

"Hunh?" Longworth grunted, the question taking him unaware.  He had been
only half listening to her chatter as he had allowed his mind to dwell
on her body.

"Oh, yes," he said brightly and too loudly.  "Yes, you are quite right,
of course.  Perhaps you can get Elmer to bring some talent from the
mainland ... a good choir."  Damn the woman!  Now she had crossed her
legs and the gown had fallen open from the waist down.  How could a man
be in the presence of those creamy, perfectly molded thighs and keep his
mind on her silly conversation?  What the hell right did she have being
so beautiful, anyway?  He'd have to get out of there before he made a
fool of himself.

He chatted with her another few minutes, then excused himself and went
to his room.  He fell across his bed, tearing frantically at his belt
and zipper then shoving his trousers and shorts down to free his long,
white cock with its pinkish head and the aristocratic, blue veins that
laced the underside of it.  He gripped it in his hand, closing his eyes
and visualizing a vivid picture of Evangeline's beautiful breasts, her
seductive legs and the coral-tinted flesh of her vulva, nakedly exposed
and gasping with desire for his prick.  He pictured himself kissing her
all over, nuzzling and mouthing her perfumed flesh, then mounting her
and raping her with cruel, savage thrusts of his cock.  His hand began
moving up and down on his organ, slowly at first, then faster and faster
as he writhed and groaned.

He came after a while, the grayish yellow of his jism squirting up from
the head of his cock to fall on the bedspread, then, as the pressure
behind it decreased, to only ooze out, running down over the back of his
hand to foul his own clothing to collect in his matted pubic hair.

"Goddamn you, Evangeline!" he muttered.  "Goddamn you for making me want
you this way."  Then, still holding his now flaccid cock, he fell
asleep.

*     *     *

On the beach, Wikiwiki lolled in the slender shade of a coconut palm.
With him was his cousin, surfing instructor at the hotel.

"We got the best jobs in the world," Wikiwiki was saying.  "Man, you
can't beat big pay and no work.  Too bad it won't last."

The cousin, a man named "Teo", looked at Wikiwiki with suspicion.  He
had learned as a child that his good-looking relative always had an
angle and was not apt to make even the most innocent statements without
being shrewdly motivated.  Still, even knowing this, Teo had been
falling into Wikiwiki's verbal traps all of his life.  Curiosity was his
undoing.

"How come?" he asked at last, cursing himself for a sucker even as he
did so and wondering what kind of trouble Wikiwiki was going to get him
into this time.

"Not hard to figure," Wikiwiki responded, idly tossing a handful of sand
at a small crab.  "You know how much it costs to keep a joint like this
going for one day?  Plenty.  So we got seven customers.  How long do you
think old Euclid J. is going to stand for that?  I'll tell you ... about
as long as it takes him to glance at the first month's balance sheet and
then reach for a phone.  Bang!  The dump is shut down and we're all out
of work.  Auwe!  It is a sad thing but, what the hell?  That's life, I
guess."

Teo nodded solemnly, relieved.  Wikiwiki had said nothing that hadn't
been discussed over an over again by all the employees.  "Nothing we can
do about it," he muttered.

"Maybe ... and maybe there is," Wikiwiki replied.  "We all know what's
needed ... some entertainment.  Why, for chrissakes, did you know that
the famous Kalola Kalikimaka, best and hottest hula dancer since before
the missionaries came, is working right here in the kitchen?  Did you
know that Lynn Charles, the top public relations girl in San Francisco,
is pushing a vacuum cleaner here?  Do you think a dope like Elmer
McFarthingale has got enough sense to see what is right under his nose?
Hell no!  Not when all his nose is good for is sniffing after
Evangeline's pussy.  Too bad the word can't get to him that he's got a
couple of the hottest properties in the hotel business right on his own
staff."

"Kalola Kalikimaka I've heard of," Teo admitted, "but who is this Lynn
Charles chick?"

"You never heard of Lynn Charles?" Wikiwiki was shocked.  "Boy, you guys
who stay all of your life on Maui are sure provincial and dumb.  Listen
to this: Less than a month ago, the Pacific Paradise Hotel on Oahu was
about to go to the wall.  It was in pretty near as bad shape as this
one.  This Lynn Charles organized a luau that was the damnedest
whingding Hawaii has seen this century.  The publicity put the old
Pacific Paradise back on its feet and took it out of the red.  If you
don't believe me, you can ask Joe Moto, the owner.  And you say you
never heard of Lynn Charles.  Brother!"

Teo scratched his head.  "So what?"

"It's simple," Wikiwiki said.  "You're screwing the wife of the man in
the personnel office.  You get this information to her and she relays it
to her husband.  He wants to keep his job, just like all of us do, so he
goes to Elmer with it.  Elmer knows he has to do something, and do it
fast.  He'll grab at the chance.  What he should do is make Lynn the new
social director and build a regular night club-type act around Kalola.
With those two kids working for him, this place will come to life.  Will
you do it, Teo?"

"I don't know," Teo muttered.  "Remember the time you talked me into
helping you start a whore-house in the old sugar mill building with all
junior high school girls?  We're lucky we didn't land in jail on that
one."

"Aw, this is different.  We were just kids then.  How about your own job
here?  Don't you want to keep it?"

"Well ..."

*     *     *

The hotel's personnel manager considered his wife a smart woman.  He
never questioned how she always seemed to know more about what went on
concerning his own job than he did.  He lost no time in going to Elmer
McFarthingale with the news.

"Sounds great," Elmer agreed, "but what am I to do about Evangeline?
You know she'd never stand for a hula dancer, and I imagine this Lynn
Charles is quite ah ... er ... modern in her approach to publicity."

"You have to decide between Evangeline and your job ... all of our
jobs."

"I suppose so," Elmer agreed doubtfully.  "I love her, but her father
will shut this place down if some changes aren't made, and soon.  If
only there was something I could do about that Matthew Longworth
character.  She was a great girl before he came into her life."

"I know," the personnel manager agree unhappily.

These two men were worthy fellows, but they lacked Wikiwiki's pragmatic
approach to life.  The beach boy was not content with merely planting
the seed of an idea in Teo's head, to be warmed in the bed of his lady
love, the wife of the personnel manager, and then timidly bloom in the
office of the hotel manager, Elmer McFarthingale.  No, Wikiwiki was well
aware that Evangeline, and her spiritual mentor, Matthew Longworth, were
the grit in the fine cogs and rollers of progress and he meant to do
something about them.  His first move was to call on Ellen Canfield.

"Honey," he said to her, "how would you like to suddenly get religion?"

She looked at him to see if he was kidding, then shook her head.  "Nope.
Nothing doing.  I don't have time for all that church going.  I'm a busy
girl.  It's all I can do now to take care of my job in the kitchen, get
myself laid six or seven times every day and then still have a few hours
left for tripping on pot or LSD.  While you're here, let's fuck."

"Not now.  This is serious.  You don't really have to get religion ...
just pretend to.  Now here's what I want you to do.  First chance you
get, you ..."

After a serious consultation with Lynn and Kalola on the subject of what
she should wear, it was decided that Ellen should don one of Lynn's knit
dresses ... with nothing under it but her own vibrant, young body.

"You got big tits," Kalola declared.  "No use strapping 'em down.  Men
like a bouncy girl."

"You sure you know what to say now?" Lynn asked, her expression that of
an anxious mother about to attend her daughter's first performance in a
school play.

"Sure," Ellen replied casually.  "Wikiwiki coached me."

The Reverend Matthew Longworth evidenced his surprise when he answered
Ellen's timid knock at his door.  He listened sympathetically but
somewhat absentmindedly as she explained that she was in need of
spiritual guidance and wondered if he could spare a few minutes of his
valuable time to make certain matters of moral significance clear to
her.

"Of course, my dear.  Do come in and be seated," he invited her.  She
had unwittingly picked a most auspicious time for the interview.  He had
just returned from a session with Evangeline and had not yet had time to
masturbate, so he was in a highly excited condition that her lovely face
and sensuous body did nothing to dispel.  He watched her wiggle and
bounce across the room, sit on the edge of his bed and cross her legs in
such a way that the maximum area of bare flesh was revealed.  She
regarded him with wide-eyed innocence, but answered a prompting question
with unexpected frankness.

"I wouldn't dream of telling this to anyone else," she told him, "but
you being a minister and all ... well, I guess you must hear all kinds
of things ... like a doctor.  My problem is sin.  I'm just not sure what
is sinful and what isn't.  I mean, everyone seems to have different
ideas about sin and I don't see how I'm supposed to know which is wrong
and which is right."

"Hummm," Longworth mused, making a steeple out of his fingers and
looking profound while he privately wondered if she really was as
braless as she appeared to be.  And, if so, what kept those amazing
boobies so jauntily erect in defiance of the law of gravity.  "Precisely
what aspect of sin is it that perplexes you, my dear?" he asked.

"Oh, all of it," Ellen replied, "but especially the part about sex.  I
don't want to do wrong, but I do have to keep up with style and custom
or look like a freak.  Take these miniskirts ..."  She picked at the hem
of the knit dress.  "They're comfortable and I guess the men like them,
but are they really immoral?  And then there's the subject of underwear.
I hate to put on panties and bras, yet some of the older women tell me
I'm a bad girl for dressing the way I am now.  But I guess the worst
thing is the dreams.  Am I responsible for what I dream, Reverend
Longworth?  Every night I have these wonderful dreams about older men.
You see, I don't like boys my own age; they're so crude and stupid.
Anyway, I dream that older men, not real old, you understand, just
mature and handsome and attractive like you, take me down on a bed, take
my clothes off of me and kiss my body all over.  Then they take their
clothes off and get on top of me and ..."

"Quite so.  Quite so," Longworth interposed.  "I think I understand."

"I'll bet you don't ... not really," Ellen protested.  "How could you
know what it's like to be a girl and have a man lift your skirt like
this and rub his hands all over your belly and down into your hair?"
She pulled her skirt up above her navel and demonstrated with her own
hand.  "You try it," she suggested, lying back down on the bed, "and
you'll see what I mean.  How can I trust what you tell me if I don't
know you've experienced it?"

Longworth was not exactly a fool.  Like a wary fox, he smelled the trap.
But was the overpowering scent of the bait more than he could resist?
He knew she was putting it on a bit thick, but damnit there she was, all
spread out there on the bed, her beautiful, young legs already quivering
in anticipation, her open thighs revealing the puffy pink lips of her
vulva haloed by soft, blonde hair.  His cock was so hard it ached.  And
now she was lifting the knit dress even higher, pulling and bunching it
up on her torso to expose those magnificent breasts.  Good God!  What
was he to do?  No doubt it was a trap and he ... he ... Oh, to hell with
it!

"Do you mean that those men in your dreams feel of you like this?" he
asked as he moved to the edge of the bed beside her and put his hand on
the warm satin of her thigh.

"Um humm," Ellen moaned.  "Like that, only they rub and pet me,
especially between the legs, and then they kiss me and bite me all
over."

"Like this?"

"Oh, yes!  But they also take their own clothes off and they always put
their pricks in my hand while they're kissing me.  I'll admit, however,
that this is much nicer than it is in my dreams.  Oh!  It's a lovely
one, so long and so white!  It's so pretty I hope you won't mind if I
just kiss the head of it.  My but it's juicy!  I don't see how anything
as nice as this could be very sinful, do you, Reverend Longworth?"

Longworth made a gurgling, burbling, indecipherable sound in answer, for
his mouth was deeply involved with her sweet, young cunt and his tongue
was probing the channel of her vagina as far as it could reach.  Ellen
sighed with contentment and swallowed as much of his prick as her mouth
could accommodate.  The thighs against which her nose was pressed were
sweaty and hairy, but she didn't mind in the least.  She was rather
tired of smooth, dry-bodied young men.  She had done this just to please
Wikiwiki, but now she found that she was enjoying the preacher more than
she had any man since that memorable first week with Max Kern.

He made her come quickly, his frantically eager tongue and sucking lips
drawing all sensation along the tingling, vibrating threads of her
nerves to concentrate it in that one, intensely sensitive spot, then
sending it back like an echo magnified a thousand times to crash and
reverberate in resounding waves of passion through her entire body.  As
she exploded in the furious release of orgasm, she felt his balls
pumping against her forehead and then he was coming, too, the hot,
wonderful stuff squirting out onto her tongue, sweet and satisfying in
her throat.

"Now you know how I feel in my dreams," Ellen whispered when he had
taken his face from between her thighs and had turned around on the bed.
"But you still don't understand what it is like when they fuck me.
Perhaps I better demonstrate that, too.  If I play with your prick, I'm
sure I can get you another hard-on.  Oh, yes, and you must kiss my
breasts.  My dream men always suck my nipples and bite me there ... just
little nibbles, you know."

"Yes, I know," Longworth panted.  "Yes, I'm sure you're right.  I'd
better fuck you.  I do want to be sure.  Your titties are beautiful ...
much lovelier than--I mean they are so unusually large and well shaped."
He lowered his head to those perfumed pillows, their warmth and fullness
caressing his cheeks.

Ellen felt for his cock, loving the way it fit her curled fingers.  She
put her hand on the back of his head and pressed his face harder into
her bosom, and the smile on her lips was the secret smile of a woman
nursing a baby.

Following Wikiwiki's instructions, Lynn was in the lobby with Koko.  She
glanced at her wrist watch.  "It's time," she told him.  "Go ahead and
call her."

Koko looked unhappy.  "I don't know that I should.  Suppose she
recognizes my voice?  I could get fired."

"And if you don't do it, we could all get fired," Lynn reminded him.
"Come on, get busy.  Remember that little whip you ordered from a
specialty house on the mainland?  I could refuse to let you use it on me
when it arrives.  Pick up the phone."

Koko turned white and droplets of moisture appeared on his forehead at
her threat.  With a shaking hand he picked up the house phone and called
Evangeline's room number.

"Mr. Longworth want to see you right 'way, Missy.  You go his room chop
chop, hunh?" he squeaked into the mouthpiece.  He hung up quickly and
wiped his head with a colored handkerchief.  "Do you suppose the accent
fooled her?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure it did," Lynn reassured him.  "You're a doll, Koko baby.  Let's go
to one of the empty rooms on my floor and make love.  You can use your
belt on me first.  I've got a date with Mr. Martin for later, but I want
you now.  Only I wish you'd hit harder with that belt.  You're too much
afraid of hurting me."

"Wait until the whip gets here," Koko reminded her.  "You'll love it."

*     *     *

"I won't do it," Teo said stoutly.  "This is going too far, Wiki.
You've pulled some crazy stunts, but this is going to be really big
trouble and I don't want any part of it."

"Bullshit!" Wikiwiki countered scornfully.  "What can you lose?  I'm
taking all the risk.  All I asked you to do was to steal a waiter's
uniform for me.  Lynn could make Koko get me one, but the little Jap is
so scared now he's about to shit his pants.  You're Hawaiian.  Aren't
you ashamed to have no more guts than a Jap?"

Teo hung his head.  "When do you want it?" he muttered.

"In ten minutes," Wikiwiki answered firmly, "so hop to it.  Right now,
Evangeline Barrington-Phaff is up there in her room either crying her
pretty eyes out or having hysterics.  She needs to be comforted, and I'm
just the guy to comfort a gorgeous, nutty babe like her.  You want to be
responsible if maybe she jumps out of the window or something?"

Teo looked confused, but he shook his head.  "Okay," he said wearily,
"but this is the last time I ever get mixed up in one of your screwy
schemes.  Absolutely the last damned time."

Chapter 10

"What are you doing here?  I didn't send for you," Evangeline asked as
the tall waiter in the too-small uniform came into her room carrying a
pitcher of ice water.  She was face down on the bed, her words muffled
by the pillow into which she had been crying.

"Perhaps some mistake," Wikiwiki suggested meekly, setting the pitcher
and glass on her bedside stand and viewing with appreciation the
delightful, feminine shape so barely concealed by a lacy nightgown and
negligee.  Through the filmy material gleamed the pink-white contours of
sensuously rounded thighs and the prettiest ass he had yet beheld.  "Is
something wrong that you cry so hard?" he inquired solicitously.  "Has
some man been unkind to you?  How could anyone be mean to such a lovely
angel of a girl."

Evangeline raised her tear-puffy face from the wet pillow to regard him
with curiosity.  She was a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist, considering
herself by birth, by race and by social position, far above anyone with
a darker skin than her own.  Yet she was sick with despair and
heartbreak, and the tall, young man, as handsome as a Playboy ad, spoke
to her gently and with compassion, and in her desperation she found
herself responding to him.

"I have been betrayed!" she sobbed dramatically.  "The faith around
which I have built my life has been destroyed.  I believed the Reverend
Matthew Longworth to be a saintly, righteous, pure man, and now I find
he has feet of clay.  I caught him doing despicable and depraved things
with one of the kitchen sluts.  I hate him and I hate the God he
pretends to worship!"  She went into a sudden rage of temper, beating
her fists on the bed and kicking her heels as though furiously pedaling
a bicycle.  "The dirty, no-good, mother-fucking, shit-assed son of a
bitch!" she screamed shrilly, her profanity reminding Wikiwiki that this
girl had been a swinger and, reputedly, a hell-raising, little bitch
before getting religion.

"There, there now," Wikiwiki murmured soothingly, "don't let a bastard
like Longworth upset you so.  You're too fine and sweet a girl to throw
your life away over a fink like him.  Look, we islanders have Oriental
blood, and we understand how foul blows to the spirit and the heart can
be relieved by revenge.  This is what you should do to make yourself
happy again.  You must revenge yourself on this man.  I will help you."

Evangeline turned over and sat up, her gray eyes interested and already
darkening with the murky passion of the evil thoughts stirring in her
brain.  "Yes!" she hissed.  "I see that you are right.  I will be
revenged!  I will cut his damned heart out!"

"No, no!" Wikiwiki protested.  "Nothing so crude and so quick.
Vengeance, to be effective, must be done with subtle cruelty so that the
victim suffers over a long period of time, so that you may enjoy his
writhings and twistings and his cries for mercy before the final moment
when you tire of the sport and dispatch him to meet his gods.  That is
the Oriental way."

She nodded.  "I see what you mean.  But how do I go about it?  A slow
poison perhaps?"

"No.  Mental torture is the best.  You must destroy his image of himself
and the one he presents the world.  What is his reason for being here in
Hawaii?  And what is the thing he considers his greatest accomplishment.
I will tell you.  It is you."

"Me?"

"Of course.  The rag-tag of followers he has in his church in New York
mean nothing to him.  His greatest pride lies in the fact that he had
converted one of society's richest and most famous women ... you,
Evangeline Barrington-Phaff.  Through his lies and his deceit, he has
turned you from the gay, happy, carefree life you once led and humbled
you to the position of apostle to him.  How can you most painfully
damage him?  Easy.  You must deny him and all he has taught you.  You
must become a sinner on the grand scale, a veritable hellcat of a
female, a low, lewd, lascivious and lustful wench, a depraved and
degraded slut.  Furthermore, you will be killing two birds with one
stone."

"How so?"

"Elmer McFarthingale.  Believe me, it pains me to tell you this, but I
feel it's my duty.  As you know, servants are the last ones from whom
secrets can be kept.  I happen to know that Elmer is marrying you only
for your money.  Would any man who really loved you have allowed a
stinker like Longworth to treat you this way?"

Evangeline considered this news, then bobbed her head in agreement.
"You're right.  I should have seen what he was up to.  I was only
marrying him to please my father anyway."

"Tell me," Wikiwiki questioned her, "is Longworth aware that you saw him
in his act of debauchery with the kitchen chick?"

"No.  The door was unlocked and I didn't knock.  I only opened it enough
to see what was going on and then I ran back to my room.  Do you know
what that monster was doing to that young girl?  She was on her hands
and knees on the bed and he was kneeling behind her.  He had his thing
in her rectum!"

"Tsk, tsk," Wikiwiki clucked.  "Are you ready now to begin your
revenge?"

Evangeline looked startled.  "Yes ... well ... that is I guess so, but I
don't know how to go about it.  If I'm to become a fallen woman, I'll
first have to find a suitable partner ... I mean, a woman of my social
position, I can't just do that sort of thing with anyone."

Wikiwiki shook his head.  "I see you have a lot to learn about revenge.
What will the shock value be in doing something like that with a
respectable, acceptable man?  No, to really degrade yourself, you must
find someone who is as far beneath you as possible, a member of the
working class ... better yet would be a menial, a servant like myself."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that.  I see.  But who can I start with?"

"Well," Wikiwiki replied after appearing to give the matter his
thoughtful consideration, "he should be a native, because that makes it
even worse, doesn't it?  He should be a servant ... such as, oh, for
instance, a waiter.  On the other hand, I wouldn't suggest you begin
with someone so ugly he would be repulsive to you.  You can work down to
that sort by gradual stages."

"But how?"

Wikiwiki hung his head and murmured Modestly, "How about me?  I would be
most happy to be of service to you in this matter."

"You?  Hummm.  Well, why not?  For a native, you are very attractive.
Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Oh, not at all!" he assured her feelingly, his greedy eyes on
magnificent breasts that rose and fell under the sheer gown as her
breathing increased in rapidity due to the mingled emotions of hate,
fear and excitement at the daring thing she was about to do.

"That's very kind of you," she replied.  "I suppose you've heard of the
reputation I had before I met that Longworth character, so you'll be
surprised to learn that I am still a virgin.  Will it hurt?"

"Yes," he answered honestly.  "It will hurt a little and it will be
messy.  There is usually some blood.  But just think how the pain and
the blood add to the degradation.  Remember that you are about to be
fucked by a black, ignorant savage, and a servant at that, one you
wouldn't ordinarily stoop to speak to ... except to give a command.  Ah,
your revenge will be very complete with my help!  If you are ready,
let's do it now.  Later, you can tell Longworth, and the whole world,
what you have done.  You can be seen necking with me in public, and we
can arrange to get ourselves thrown out of the best and the worst places
in the islands for unbecoming conduct.  I will teach you to dress, look
and talk like the lowest and cheapest whore.  Lay back down on the bed
and pull your gown up.  See, I am removing my trousers."

"I ... I don't know," Evangeline quavered, her face contorted with
indecision and sudden doubt as she gazed with wide, frightened eyes and
sagging chin at Wikiwiki's naked loins from which arched up the fearsome
length of his bronzed and quivering prick, the small, vertical mouth in
the darker head already drooling in anticipation.  "I don't think I
should.  Maybe I better ..."

"Too late!" he cried and launched himself upon her like a young panther.
A brutal knee went up between hers, forcing her legs apart as, with one
ripping motion of his hand, he tore her gown from neckline to hem,
exposing her great, gorgeous breasts.  "You've been spoiling for this
for years," he grunted.  "A good fucking is all you've ever needed to
make a woman out of you.  That's it ... fight me.  Make it rape and then
it will be even better when you tell it to Longworth.  When I'm through
with you, you'll be ready to screw anything with a cock and balls.
You'll crawl on your knees and beg and whine to get it from any man.
You'll fuck in the back seats of cars, on the beach and in alleys
between the garbage cans and think you're lucky to get the chance.
They'll call you 'splatter ass' and 'punchboard' and 'roundheels' and
you'll love those names.  Longworth will hate the day he ever met you.
Say goodbye to your maidenhead.  After this you're a slut ... lower than
that girl from the kitchen."

With one mighty lunge of his powerful body, he drove his cock into her
to the hilt.  He grinned in delight to feel the head of it tearing its
way through the tender, membranous lining of her cunt.  His laughter was
as loud as her piercing scream of agony.  The shock and the pain of the
initial assault kept her from fighting him as he slowly began to fuck
her, his big cock probing her hitherto untried and unused, inner person.
He was deriving more pleasure from her than from any other of the many
women and girls he had rolled in the hay during his busy career.  In the
first place, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known and, as
he deliberately prolonged the act, he was extremely conscious of the
lush, creamy body under him, of the fabulous breasts crushed against his
chest and of the soft, womanly thighs that surpassed in beauty the
thighs of Aphrodite.  Not normally either an unkind or even unchivalrous
fellow, his intense desire for her was not unmixed with hate.  He was
aware of her racial prejudice, and it gave him a certain fiendish
pleasure to have outwitted her and conquered her.

He made it last a long time ... long enough for the pain he was causing
her to subside and for her to recover from the brain-numbing effects of
shock so that she was fully aware of her situation.  She realized the
futility of fighting him and strove only to get away from his punishing
prick, but he held her by the weight of his body and the strength of his
powerful arms.  She begged and cursed and threatened, but he ignored
her, not caring how loud she screamed, for he knew that her suite was
the only one occupied on the top floor.  Worn out at last from her
strenuous efforts, she lay slack and unmoving beneath him, even the
source of her tears eventually running dry.

He continued the deliberate, even rhythm of his fucking until he could
no longer hold back the gathering tension of his nervous system, and at
last his orgasm was triggered.  His feverishly pumping testicles drove
the cum into her in a gushing torrent, flooding her cunt and oozing out
to run down the crack of her ass onto the bed.  His coming shook him as
he had never been shaken before.  For the first time in his life, it was
a total thing, a complete bodily and mental involvement that took
control of him, wrenched him this way and that, then drained him out
through the head of his cock so that he experienced the strange
knowledge that he had, in fucking her, somehow become part of her and
that he would never again be a whole person without her.

"Will you let me go now?" she asked him when she knew he was through.
"This was partly my fault.  I'm willing to forgive you.  I should never
have listened to your crazy idea about revenge in the first place.
Please let me go.  You've ruined me.  Isn't that enough for you?"

"No!" he whispered fiercely, his face in the misty cloud of her blonde
hair, his lips touching the perfumed rose petal of her ear.  "I'll never
let you go.  I haven't ruined you.  I've begun to make a real woman out
of you, and I like what I've created.  I can't stop now."

"What else is there, then?"

"This."  He fastened his mouth to hers and kissed her as she had never
been kissed.  Again she struggled, but he held her firmly, not desisting
until her lips were puffed and swollen from the contact, her tongue
tingling from being sucked into his mouth and caressed by his own
tongue.  When she was weak from lack of breath and from her ineffective
effort to break away, he lowered his head to her breasts and began to
work on her nipples.  He released his hold on her wrists to free his
hand so that he might stroke her body, tracing the curvature of her
torso and a sweetly rounded hip.  His hand learned the shape of her
thighs, feeling for the tender, silken skin on their inner surfaces and
coming at last to her vulva, slick and greasy from his own semen, puffed
and sensitive from the violence with which he had entered her and from
the friction of his prick.  He sought and found her clitoris.  She
gasped when he touched it but made no effort toward further resistance.

The seconds and the minutes ticked by, stretching toward a half-hour
before he gradually became aware that the arms he had released now
encircled his broad shoulders, that Evangeline's breathing had increased
in pace and that an occasional tremor ran through the length of her
body.  He continued his artful manipulation of her clitoris and felt her
hips stir, tentatively at first, then with a surer movement.  Now she
was rotating them smoothly in time to the circular motion of his finger,
uttering small moans of pleasure.  Her hand went to the back of his
head, pressing his face deeper into the perfumed opulence of her breast
and sighing with contentment when his teeth delicately nipped the
swollen, hard flesh of her nipple.

When she was writhing and twisting beneath him, half-sobbing in a new
kind of torment, he again mounted her.  This time she spread her legs,
welcoming him.  He was gentle with her, easing his cock into her hot,
wet, engulfing flesh.  She groaned and arched her back, her cunt begging
for more of him, her hands frantically digging into the cheeks of his
ass to pull him into her.

"Oh, God, yes!" she muttered.  "Do it to me, darling!  I love you!  Oh,
God how I love you!"

"And I love you, too," Wikiwiki heard himself echo her, wondering at the
sound of the words issuing from his mouth.  Never before had he listened
to himself say such a thing to a girl.

He wanted to come, but he held back, using all of his art to induce an
orgasm in her first.  And he was rewarded for his effort.  At first he
thought she was crying again and that he must be hurting her.  Then he
realized that the low-pitched keening that came from her was her song of
passion, fitting accompaniment to the wild, urgent dance of her hips and
the frenetic, mad drumming of her heels on the backs of his thighs.  Her
long, scarlet-tipped fingernails dug into his muscle and, in the
insanity of her unbearable rapture, she bit his shoulder.

"I'm coming!" she screamed.  "I'm coming, sweetheart!  Fuck me, darling!
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!  Oh, blessed Jesus!  Oh, blessed fuck!"
Her voice trailed off in a prolonged groan of anguish like the sound of
an ambulance siren fading into the night.  Her body, bent like a bow,
grew rigid and trembled, every muscle undergoing a series of short,
violent spasms.  She relaxed and came down to the bed as though she was
slowly and languidly drifting down to it from a great height.  She was
dimly aware that his flowing tide had once more filled her cunt to
overflowing, and she lay there, a secret, knowing, happy smile on her
face to feel it running, first hot and sticky and then cool, down her
thighs and onto the cheeks of her ass.

When he would have pulled his dripping cock from her, she held him with
her hands, telling him not to take it out ... to leave it in there
always.  She kissed him, and he thought the taste of her lips as sweet
as ginger blooms at midnight on the slopes of Tantalus.

*     *     *

It was the following day before Elmer McFarthingale discovered that his
fiancee was no longer in the hotel.  He had supposed at first that she
was simply in one of her frequent moods and refusing to answer either
her door or her room telephone.  When, in desperation, he unlocked the
door and went in, the unmade bed told the story as well as the note she
had left.  The sheets were spotted with dried blood and stiff with the
yellow stain of dried semen.

The note was brief and explicit:

Elmer, you son of a bitch:

I'm leaving.  Run your goddamned hotel any way you wish, you stiff-
necked, stuffy, fortune-hunting bastard.

Miss Barrington-Phaff

"Who?" Elmer muttered aloud.  "Who the hell got her?  Longworth?  No,
he's still around.  So there goes my love life and the Barrington-Phaff
millions down the drain.  Come to think of it, was the money really
worth the price?  I'd liked to have been the guy who fucked her and made
her like it," he thought wistfully, "but I'm not sure I envy him if he's
stuck with her.  Okay, Evangeline, my kooky ex-fiancee, I'll take you at
your word and run this place to suit myself.  Maybe I can at least save
my job and my reputation as a hotel man."  Feeling vastly relieved, he
went downstairs to his office and sent a bellboy to find Lynn Charles
and Kalola Kalikimaka.

After a conference that lasted two hours, Lynn left the office with the
new title of Social Director with a free hand to use her own ingenuity
in making the Hale-Kaahumanu the swingingest hotel in the Hawaiian
Islands.

Kalola remained.

"Are you really a top dancer?" Elmer asked her.  "Forgive my ignorance,
but I'm new to the islands and--"

"Sure."  Kalola grinned impishly.  "I show you."  Before the startled
hotel manager was aware of her intentions, she had jumped up from her
chair and divested herself of her muumuu.  Naked but for her long,
glistening, black hair, she posed before him, her brown body gleaming in
the wan light of late afternoon.  "This is called 'The Dance of The
Deflowered Maiden,'" she announced, her hands touching in front of her
and her feet beginning to shuffle on the floor.

Elmer sat entranced, not understanding the language of her talking hands
but goggle-eyed as he drank in the beauty of her bouncing, brown breasts
and the play of her sensuously flashing thighs.

"And this is called 'Tahitian Shimmy,'" she said, her hips rotating in a
blur of motion that made it appear they were on well-oiled ball
bearings.

"That dance is very good for getting male customers all excited," she
declared as the dance ended.  "You think so, hunh?  Yes, you think so,"
she decided sagely as she went around to the desk to sit on his lap and
squeeze his steel-stiff cock through his pants.  "You were supposed to
keep your eyes on my hands," she chided him, "but I think you watch my
titties all the time.  You like my titties, huh?  Take your pants off,
Mr. McFarthingale.  How can you fuck me with your pants on?  I think
you're cute."

Chapter 11

Lynn, Ellen and Kalola were gathered in Lynn's room.  "Everything has
worked out just as Wikiwiki promised it would," Lynn was saying.  "We've
fucked ourselves into important positions on the hotel staff, though his
clever, conniving, Evangeline is no longer here to dominate Elmer and
dictate policy, and now, what with the show Kalola and her troupe put on
every night, plus the fact that Ellen has gotten jobs here for every
whore, professional or amateur, on Maui, this has become the most
popular resort hotel in the South Pacific.  We're sold out and have
reservations ahead for six months.  Elmer showed me a letter this
morning from Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff praising the management to the
skies.  There was a personal note at the end assuring Elmer that he had
no cause to worry concerning the breaking of his engagement with
Evangeline, that the old man has disinherited her and has no further
interest in her conduct or whereabouts.  So I guess everything is just
dandy."

"The hell it is," Ellen replied glumly.  "Without Wikiwiki around, what
fun is it?  I miss him."

"We all do," Kalola agreed unhappily.  She took a long, reflective drag
on the marijuana cigarette she was smoking and passed the butt to Lynn.
"Besides, this isn't the way it was supposed to work at all.  Wikiwiki
was supposed to wind up as manager of the hotel.  Instead he vanishes
and Elmer gets all the glory.  You don't suppose he's dead, do you?" she
asked Lynn.

"I don't think so," the redhead replied.  "I figure his disappearance
has something to do with Evangeline.  To get her out of our hair, he had
to take her a hell of a long way from here maybe.  It's just taking him
a long time to get back ... I hope."

"This whole caper has been more trouble than it was worth," Ellen
declared.  "I told you right from the first that the easiest and nicest
way for us to make a living was just to be whores and maybe sell a
little pot or 'L' on the side.  I didn't mind going along with it while
we had Wikiwiki, but now we've lost him, too.  Gosh!  Nobody fucks the
groovy way he does.  The Reverend Longworth was pretty good, but Elmer
ran him off after Evangeline copped out."

"Well, we have to stay here and do the best we can without him," Lynn
declared loyally, "just in case he does come back."

The other two nodded in silent, sorrowful agreement.

*     *     *

It was on the following morning that Elmer came bustling into Lynn's
office, beaming with excitement and happiness.

"We got it!" he cried, waving a cablegram in the air as though it were a
triumphal banner.  "We got it!"

"Got what?" Lynn asked mildly.

"The convention!" Elmer chortled.  "See?  This is from the boss in New
York.  The old boy swung it, by George!  We are going to host the A.A.
of S.P.M. convention.  Do you know what that means, Miss Charles?  Why,
this is one of the biggest convention groups in the country.  Every
hotel from Florida to California has been angling for it.  If we handle
this one successfully, we'll become the top convention hotel in America.
That's what it means!"

"And what is the A.A. of S.P.M.?" Lynn asked.

"That is the 'American Association of Sanitary Papergoods
Manufacturers,'" Elmer burbled.

"Like scratch paper and paper cups?" Lynn inquired.

Elmer reddened.  "Not exactly.  As a matter of fact they make toilet
paper," he explained, "but they're just about the biggest group in the
whole U.S.  Now here's what I want you to do.  We'll have the usual
entertainment and activates, but to cap the climax I want you to
organize a luau just like the one you put on to save the Pacific
Paradise Hotel."

Lynn raised an auburn eyebrow.  "Just like that one, Mr. McFarthingale?"

"Why, of course.  Now don't be modest, Miss Charles.  I wasn't there,
unfortunately, but I overhead some of the kitchen help discussing that
affair one day and they agreed it was the greatest thing that has ever
been done in the islands in modern times.  You're really quite famous
for it, you know.  Can you do the same thing here for the Hate-
Kaahumanu?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," Lynn said doubtfully, "if you're sure that's
what you want.  All right, I'll get started with the arrangements right
away."

"Fine.  Oh, by the way, I understand the A.A. of S.P.M. members are
inclined to be somewhat on the prudish and strait-laced side, so perhaps
it would be well to tone down the ... er ... bawdier aspects of any
entertainment you schedule."

"Now why the hell doesn't he make up his mind?" Lynn muttered to herself
as Elmer went hurrying out of her office.  "He sure can't have it both
ways."

She took her problem to Koko, who suggested that perhaps Elmer had heard
only an expurgated version of the Pacific Paradise affair, and he
therefore recommended that she keep it clean.

"Most of those guys will bring their wives," he told her, "so, if I were
you, I'd pass the word to Ellen to have her girls lay off the married
men and be discreet with the single ones."

"Sounds like it will turn out to be a very exciting occasion," she
predicted glumly.  "Maybe I could put up a maypole and let them dance
around it, or we could have a taffy pull and bob for apples.  Get the
whip out, Koko.  I need a little stimulation."

Grinning evilly, his wicked, little eyes gleaming, he took the white
leather whip from his dresser drawer as Lynn bent over a hassock and
pulled her dress up to reveal her ass, faintly crisscrossed by fading
marks from previous sessions of this kind.

"Lay it on," she commanded him.  "I want to really feel it this time."
She suffered through the first dozen blows, waiting patiently for her
reward--the strange experience of mind expansion and greatly increased
awareness that came when the pain diminished.  He had doffed his
trousers, and when she looked around to see that his cock was stiff, she
motioned for him to stop.  He sank to the carpet beside her and she
rolled onto him from the hassock, her open mouth receiving his throbbing
prick.  She sucked him greedily, bobbing her head up and down so that
her lips touched every part of the shaft while her tongue danced around
the head.

"Do me in the ass," she begged him, reluctantly surrendering his cock
before he could come in her mouth.  "God but I'm hot!  Fuck it into me
hard, Koko."

He obliged her, his prick forcing its way through the confining
stricture imposed by her sphincter muscle.  Because he knew that was how
she liked it, he was brutal and rough with her, and her muffled groans
of pain increased his own excitement.  He came too quickly to suit her,
but she loved the hot gush of his jism in her ass.

She thanked him and left the room to return to her office and begin
making plans for the convention.  She drew up a tentative list of
activities, but it somehow refused to go right, and she realized that it
was hopeless in her present mood.  For once, an hour with Koko and his
little white whip had failed to satisfy her and calm her nerves.  She
found herself remembering Tony and regretting his death.  She also
thought of Wikiwiki and regretted his defection.

"Damn!" she exclaimed in vexation and left the office with no particular
purpose in mind.  She crossed the busy lobby and went out to the moist,
tropical heat.  She had walked through the extensive and beautifully
landscaped grounds for some time when she came to a thick hedge, beyond
which was the beach, the lazy, creamy surf and, hazy in the distance,
the low-lying island of Lanai.  The beach was crowded with tourists from
the hotel, and she thought for the thousandth time how utterly
ridiculous they looked in their Bermuda shorts, bright Aloha shirts and
bikinis with their soft, fat, white, elderly bodies revealed.
Disgusted, she turned away and walked along the hedge toward the snick-
snicking sound of hedge trimmers.  The gardener was a big man, burned
black from the sun.  She thought him quite the ugliest human she had
ever beheld.  His muscular body glistened with perspiration and his face
was deeply scarred and puckered by the ravages of some old disease.  He
glanced at her as she approached and continued with his work.

"Hello," Lynn said, coming up to stand beside him.  "I wonder if you
would do me a favor."

"Sure," he said, putting down the hedge trimmer and turning to face her.
"Whatsa mattah yo' need help fo'?" he asked pleasantly.

"I would like very much to have you fuck me," she told him calmly.
"Over there under that pandanus tree looks like a good place.  No one
could see us there from either the hotel or the beach."

He stared at her with small, black eyes and absently scratched at a
mosquito bite on his ribs.  "Yo' no make fun?" he asked at last.  "Yo'
no kid?"

"No kid," she replied firmly.  "Come on."  She took his arm and walked
with him to the shade of the pandanus tree and began removing her
clothing.  Not until she had stripped herself nude did he apparently
decide that he believed her, that this miracle of the beautiful, white
woman was, indeed, a fact.  He wore only trousers, and she had to help
him unbuckle the belt.  He was too dazed to do anything but stare at the
ripe, full, womanly body in front of him.  She knelt on the grass and
drew his pants down to his ankles, taking his big, soft prick in her
hands and pressing it to her check before she touched it lovingly with
her red lips and ran the tip of her tongue around the head of it.  It
grew, swelling like a fat, black puff adder rapidly stiffening.  She ran
her hands over his thighs and the cheeks of his ass.  His body smelled
strongly of perspiration and old urine, and the stink of him excited
her.

"Hey, lady," he said, looking down at her from his gargoyle's face.
"Yo' maybeso gonna suck my cock, hunh?"

She smiled up at him.  "Later, if you can do it more than once.  But I
want you to fuck me first.  Are you ready?"

He laughed good-naturedly.  "Lady, I Old Moke.  Ask any wahine ... she
tell yo' Old Moke do it all day, all night, too." He dropped to his
knees in front of her, gently pushed her over so that she fell on the
grass, then mounted her and began working the bulbous head of his cock
into her.

"No, no!" she protested.  "Not like that, Moke.  Like a bull with a cow.
Shove it in hard and all the way."

He grunted and heaved his heavy hips at her.  Not even Tony or Wikiwiki
had been built like this, she thought, and she nearly swooned with sheer
delight as she felt the thing go into her like a steel wedge bent on
splitting her up the middle.

"That's it!" she sobbed.  "Now fuck hell out of me!  Pound me to pieces,
Moke!  Punch the shit out of me with that woman-killer of yours!  Only
make me come.  Please make me come!"

"Yo' come," Moke promised as he continued fucking her.  Five minutes
later, he was proved right.  She came to an orgasm that was so powerful
it was almost like dropping from a great height into a sea of warm soup.
The sensation struck her suddenly, engulfing her, swallowing her body
and her mind, drowning her in the luxury of exquisite rapture that was
beyond mere ecstasy.  She gave herself over to it, letting the hot tide
of it wash over her.  Above her, the colors of the trees, the sky and
the profusion of flowers ran together, not dimming but merging, flowing
and swirling into a kaleidoscopic montage ... like one of the illusions
claimed for LSD but which never really happen.

The orgasm faded, and her lust-glazed eyes came back into focus as Moke,
having shot a gargantuan glob of glutinous semen into her, gave a final
grunt and withdrew.

"That was beautiful!" she sighed.  "It was simply beautiful!  I'm so
glad I found you.  Do you like making love to me?"

"Sure, lady," Moke said, grinning down at her.  "Yo' moh bettah fuck
than any brown, wahine gal."

"Wonderful!  I'll give you a key to my room.  You come and sleep with me
whenever you want.  Okay?  Now I want to suck your cock.  I have to get
back to my job, but we have time for that, and for one more fuck
afterward.  You like to suck pussy?"

"Sure, lady," Moke said.

Later that afternoon, Lynn, feeling refreshed and renewed, returned to
her desk and worked out the program for entertainment of the ones who
would be guests during the coming convention.  It was going to be a
sickeningly Milquetoast affair, she believed, but was probably just what
Elmer would want.  She wondered if the spirit of Evangeline, like a
persistent and gloomy ghost, still hovered over the head of the dapper,
fussy little man, influencing his policy.  No, she decided, Elmer was
naturally something of a prude and a square in his own right.

For the following week she was so busy she hardly had time for either
Koko or Moke, but she had the satisfaction of knowing that everyone else
was as hurried and flustered as she.  She had to select the site for the
luau, supervise the digging of the imu, the pit in which the pig would
be roasted, order decorations, food and liquor, and engage another
orchestra to relieve Kalola's group so that they would have time off
with no break in the festivities.  Kalola, she knew, was practicing like
mad to learn the new routines, the cleaned-up versions of the dances she
had been doing.  Ellen, who through Lynn's influence, now had the title
of Head Dietitian, was busy in the kitchen and also busy keeping her
girls in line.  Most of the waitresses were prostitutes who had been
making a lot of extra money on the side since coming to work at the
hotel.

It was the day before the convention people were due to arrive when
Elmer dropped the bomb.  He again rushed into Lynn's office clutching a
cablegram.  He was pale and distraught, his hand trembling as he
reverently placed the yellow sheet on her desk.

"The old man!" he gasped weakly.  "Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff himself is
going to be here for the convention.  My God!  Miss Charles, are you
sure that everything is all right?  There will be no slip-ups ... no
booboos?  Good Lord!  I never expected--"

Lynn shrugged.  "Sure.  All is groovy.  Why the fuss?"

Elmer threw his hands up.  "Heaven help us if you're not right.  It all
depends on you.  You don't know Euclid J., or you wouldn't wonder at my
agitation.  He's a perfectionist and a rigid moralist.  Let him find so
much as a speck of dust on a potted palm, or note the swish of a hip on
a waitress, and he may have us all shot at dawn.  Join me in a moment of
prayer that he hears not one word of complaint from any guest.  No,
never mind praying.  We haven't time for that.  We have to check and
double-check everything.  Don't fail me, Miss Charles!" he begged as he
rushed from her office.

"Whew!" Lynn exclaimed.  "No wonder Elmer doesn't have ulcers ... he
gives them."

*     *     *

It was a three-day convention.  The guests arrived on schedule, ate,
drank, played, swam, slept and were entertained according to a schedule
prearranged by Social Director Lynn Charles.  The first two days passed
in the orderly confusion that was to be expected and nothing--not one
little thing--went wrong.  No wife surprised her husband in bed with one
of the waitresses, Kalola's dances were exotic and colorful without the
least suggestion of being erotic, and Elmer's pulse and respiration
lowered to within a few points of normal.

On the evening of the third and final day, an hour before the luau was
due to begin, Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff arrived by private plane.  Half
an hour before the arrival of the great man, all of Elmer's worst fears
were realized, his world turned into a nightmare of sheer horror.  It
began with the rumor that reached him via the bellboy channel, that one
of the women, the wife of a conventioneer, had been caught on the beach
being screwed by a beach boy.  Not one of his beach boys.  Why, Miss
Charles had picked most of them for him herself!

When the next blow fell, he had no choice but to believe it, for it was
a thing he witnessed himself.

Ellen, busy making salads, had not been surprised when she felt a warm
hand slide up under her dress to caress her legs.  She was used to that
in the kitchen.  She didn't bother to look around, sure it was either
the cook or one of his helpers.

"Not now," she said.  "There isn't time."

"Aw, fuck this damned convention!"  It was the voice of the chef.  "Ever
since this shit started I haven't hardly got any from you at all."

"I know," she agreed sympathetically, "but I have to finish these
salads.  Why don't you just lift up my skirt and do it to me from
behind?  That way you won't interfere with my work."

"Okay," he replied and did as she had suggested.

Ellen went right on with her salad-making while the chef hunched at her,
his cock sliding in and out of her as she bent over her work.  She had a
happy smile on her face when Elmer walked into the kitchen.

Elmer screamed, the chef came in Ellen's cunt, and Ellen cut her finger,
all at the same time.

"What is the meaning of this?" Elmer screeched at them, his horrified
eyes bugged out beyond the bridge of his nose as he stared at the chef's
cock, now withdrawn and dropping from shock but still dripping on the
floor.

"I don't know what the fuss is all about," Ellen said mildly.  "We're
supposed to be on our break right now anyway."

Uttering an unintelligible moan of anguish, Elmer rushed from the
kitchen.  He ran all the way to Lynn's room.  Ellen was Lynn's friend.
He wanted some explanation of the outrageous conduct he had witnessed,
but, more than that, he wanted reassurance.  Kalola was Lynn's friend
and he remembered how the native girl had practically tried to rape him
in his own office.  Never mind the fact that she had very nearly
succeeded.  With friends like that ...  He couldn't complete the
thought.  It was too terrible even to contemplate.

He was so driven by the demon of doubt that he reneged on his very
proper, early training and forgot to knock.  He opened the door to a
sight such as he had never expected to witness in his rather narrow and
stuffy lifetime.  On Lynn's bed was a Hawaiian, so big, so dark and so
ugly he could only be one person ... the gardener known as Old Moke.  On
top of Old Moke was Lynn Charles.  They were both quite nude, and it was
apparent that Moke had his cock in Lynn's cunt up to his ponderous
balls.  Standing over the two of them, also naked, was Koko, the bell
captain.  In his right hand was a white whip which he was industriously
wielding, as evidenced by the red welts on the very attractive ass of
Miss Charles.

Elmer fainted.

The participants in the orgy were not aware that he had come, seen and
gone quietly to sleep just outside the door of the room, so they
continued happily to enjoy themselves.  Some other servants found Elmer
there, carried him to his room and revived him.  He sat up in bed,
dismissed them and looked at his watch.  He had seventeen minutes before
his boss was due to arrive.  He spent five of the seventeen minutes
making a decision.  It was not a question of whether or not to fire the
three girls ... only a matter of when.  What he would really like to do,
he thought savagely, was to roast them in the imu instead of the pig,
but that was impractical.  Unfortunately, it was not even practical to
fire them immediately.  No, in this case, expediency must rule the day.
He would pretend that nothing had happened.  For, without Lynn and
Kalola, the whole thing, the days and days of frantic preparation, would
fall apart at Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff's expensively shod feet.
Having made his decision, he arose, combed his hair, adjusted his tie
and made sure his jock strap was firmly in place.  He then, chin up,
went bravely to the airport.

Euclid Barrington-Phaff was what is sometimes referred to as a solid
citizen, although all two hundred fifty pounds of him was not really
solid.  Around what had once been his waist, he tended to run to
blubber.  Nevertheless, he was an imposing person, his air of pompous
dignity surviving even the bright green Aloha shirt he wore and the
shorts that exposed rolls of oyster-white fat above each knee.  He
acknowledged Elmer's greeting with that delicately adjusted mixture of
dignity and joviality considered proper when dealing with upper-echelon
employees.  On the short ride to the hotel, he admitted that he was
quite well satisfied with the financial returns of his investment to
date, but he saw fit to remind Elmer that procuring the convention for
the Hale-Kaahumanu was a stroke that had been accomplished strictly in
New York.

"Yes, you're doing a fine job, I'm sure," he said, unbending enough to
place a fat, fatherly hand on Elmer's knee.  "But you worry me, my boy.
You seem all tense and tight.  Something bothering you?"

"Oh, no, sir, nothing at all," Elmer assured him hurriedly.
"Everything's fine ... just fine."

Had Elmer at that moment been gifted with telescopic vision, and had he
been able to see across the few miles of sugar cane fields and through
the several walls that separated him from the kitchen of the Hale-
Kaahumanu, he might not have been able to answer so glibly.  As a matter
of fact, he probably would have fainted again.  For it was at that
moment that Ellen, piqued at what she considered unjust condemnation,
stood by the giant punchbowl, dropping tablet after tablet of LSD into
the fruity mixture.

She had a smile of serene contentment on her pretty face.

Chapter 12

Elmer McFarthingale should have been pleased and greatly relieved at the
way things went, at least during the initial hour of the luau.  The food
was superb, the two native orchestras magnificent, and the series of
singers and dancers outdid themselves.  Even the punchbowl was very
popular, although neither he nor the big boss sampled it, both being
confirmed non-drinkers.  He had a bad moment when the time came to
introduce Lynn Charles to Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff, but the beautiful
redhead looked as fresh and sweet and as innocent as a sophomore,
accepting the hotel baron's compliments on the job she had turned out
with becoming grace and modesty.  Elmer could hardly believe that she
was the same girl he had seen, less than two hours earlier, astride a
naked Hawaiian while a naked Japanese lashed her fabulous fanny with a
white whip.

Yes, Elmer should have been pleased, but he wasn't.  Instead, he was
running scared.  After the things he had witnessed in the kitchen, and
in Lynn's room, was there any limit to the catastrophic possibilities
germane to this perilous predicament?  Furthermore, although the big
boss was apparently delighted with the program, his fat face beaming
with joviality, Elmer sensed a strange and alarming mood that seemed to
be slowly gripping the guests.  True, the punchbowl was liberally spiked
with several kinds of rum and brandy.  But this was something more than
mere drunkenness.  From the assembled throng of revelers he got the
distinct impression of a kind of lazy, dreamlike, to-hell-with-it-anyway
permissiveness, as though the bars of their inhibitions had not only
been lowered but had been cast entirely aside.  He noticed, for
instance, that all the guests at the feast sat cross legged on the
ground in the style traditional at luaus, but, whereas the women had
begun the feast with skirts decorously pulled down to hide their knees,
most of them now had allowed the hems to hike up until many thighs were
bare nearly to the crotch.  He glanced nervously at his boss to see if
the big man had noticed, but apparently he had not.

A low stage had been erected at one end of the courtyard and it was
there that the entertainers had been performing.  A change in the tempo
of the music drew the attention of everyone back to the stage as though
they knew by instinct that the next act was to be the grand climax, the
great finale for which all the other acts had been mere preliminaries.

Elmer shuddered.  Kalola!  She wouldn't dare!

He allowed himself to breathe again when she came running onto the stage
to a fanfare of music.  He saw that she was clad in a full-length grass
skirt, halter top and at least six flower leis.  The dance she did was
one of the innocuous routines worked out earlier.  It was greeted with
applause but with no mighty ovation.  Kalola smiled--and held up a small
hand for silence.  Elmer saw that she was going to speak, and fear crept
back to walk with cold fingers up his spine.  What was the little savage
up to?  This was not part of the program.  Oh, well, maybe no one would
be able to understand her anyway.  Then she did the thing that eternally
baffles mainlanders ... she abandoned the patois she most frequently
used and spoke in clear, precise and perfectly enunciated English.

"Thank you," she said simply.  "The dance you have just seen might
properly be labeled a theatrical version of our native dances and bears
about as much resemblance to the real thing as oatmeal mush does to poi.
You've been a great audience and I think you are entitled to view the
Hawaiian hula-hula in its original form, and in a way in which it has
only rarely been done since the days of Kamekameha The Great."  She
signaled the orchestra and all of the instruments remained silent but
for the dull, hypnotic beating of the drums and the sharper, rhythmic
clatter of the hardwood sticks on gourds.  She fumbled for a moment
behind her, then her halter top came off to be tossed off the floor of
the stage.  Her brown, beautiful breasts bobbed free, thrusting
themselves out through the garlands of flowers that decorated her bosom.
Her feet began the shuffling dance and her hands to move in the melting,
liquid grace that is the soul of the hula.

"McFarthingale, what is this?" Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff demanded, his
face purpling and his small, piggy eyes glowing with rising indignation.
"That dancer ... that savage ... she's ... why, she's completely
topless!"

Elmer's answer was drowned in a roar of approval from the audience.
They stamped and whistled and shouted.  One of the men yelled the old,
burlesque call of encouragement.  "Take it off!" The others immediately
took it up, and it became a chant, the swelling thunder of which drowned
out even the drums.  "Take it off!  Take it off!  Take it off!"

Kalola paused in her dance, regarded them quizzically with tilted head,
then she grinned and quickly unfastened the top of her grass skirt.  The
flower leis followed it to the floor, and she was gloriously and
primitively naked before them, her bronzed body gleaming in the murky,
fitful light of the tiki torches that illumined the courtyard.  The roar
of appreciation that went up from the guests was deafening.

"Elmer!" Barrington-Phaff screamed, "do something about this at once!"

"Yes, sir," Elmer screamed back and summoned the nearest waiter.  "Get
up there on that stage and do something about this at once!" he yelled
in the man's ear, unconsciously repeating Barrington-Phaff's own words.

The waiter, a Hawaiian, misunderstood his meaning.  He had been sampling
the punch, too.  He ran laughing onto the stage, stripped himself of his
white uniform and underwear and joined Kalola in the dance she was
doing, his frenzied movements causing his cock to rotate like a
majorette's baton.

"Oh, my God, no!" Elmer groaned, then manfully plowed and elbowed his
way through the crowd that had now gathered around the stage.  He made
it and leaped up on the wooden platform, attempting to seize the wildly
gyrating waiter.

"Leave him alone!" someone shouted.  A woman jumped up behind him and
began beating him on the back of the head with her handbag.

Barrington-Phaff was no coward.  Seeing his employee thus set upon, he
hurled his bulk stageward, knocking people right and left with his huge
belly and massive shoulders.  He almost made it before one of the men in
the crowd tripped him and another one hit him in the eye as he was going
down.  The hotel employees who were professional servants--not the
prostitutes, beach boys and bums Lynn had influenced Elmer to hire--
rallied to the defense of their manager and of the big boss from New
York.  The ensuing donnybrook now ranks in history as the only major
engagement fought in the South Pacific since the end of World War II.
Like gladiators of ancient Rome, the contestants battled it out in the
arena of the courtyard, and it must be admitted that the ladies of the
A.A. of S.P.M. acquitted themselves as well as their men.  Even so, the
doughty warriors representing the toilet paper manufacturing industry
might have gone down to defeat had not Ellen and Lynn arrived with
reinforcements.  When Ellen's chippies joined the fray on the side of
the guests, the outcome was decided.  The regular hotel men were routed
and the victors sank wearily to the ground to rest.

"For Christ's sake, look at that, would you?" one of the men exclaimed
weakly.  He pointed to the stage where Kalola was flat on her back and
the waiter who had been dancing with her was atop her, his cock plunging
in and out of her in time to the beat of one drum that still resounded.

"Let's all fuck!" one of the women yelled, the dope, the excitement of
the fight, and the sight of Kalola's public display of raw sex, driving
her to a pitch of reckless passion that would not be denied.  Eager
cries of agreement were the response to her suggestion, and the nearest
man to her leaped astride her.  She helped him rip her dress off and
unzip his trousers.  His wife, who had long coveted the body of his
district sales manager, pulled her skirt up to her waist and advanced
upon that worthy with lewd intent.  She found him quite willing.  In a
matter of minutes they were all at it.  The remarkable thing about this
mass screwing was that, despite the confusion, not one husband committed
the social error of fucking his own wife.

Elmer McFarthingale opened one eye.  The other was swollen shut.  The
back of his head ached, and he would have raised a hand to explore the
egg-sized lump there, had not several hundred pounds of bone, fat and
muscle been lying on his arm.  His left leg was similarly imprisoned by
the heap of inert bodies of which his was apparently a member of the
lowest layer.  He looked about him as well as he could and beheld a
scene of utter devastation as well as complete debauchery.  Rolling and
writhing among the remains of the feast were the guests, all busily and
happily fornicating.  Not far away, Lynn Charles crouched nakedly above
a groaning man.  She had his cock in her mouth and was sucking it
avidly.  On the stage, Kalola was still being fucked ... not by the
waiter who had danced with her.  Near Lynn, Ellen Canfield was on her
hands and knees.  One of the guests had his prick in her ass.  Every
time he thrust into her she farted and he laughed, seeming to find this
musical type of intercourse hilariously funny.

Elmer lowered his gaze and found himself staring at one small, cold,
unblinking eye that regarded him steadily with chillingly baleful
malevolence.

"McFarthingale," Euclid J. Barrington-Phaff said distinctly, "you are
fired."

"Yes, sir," Elmer answered ... and then he fainted.

*     *     *

The three girls disembarked from the inter-island plane at the
International Airport in Honolulu.

"It seems to me," Lynn said, "that this is where we came in ... only we
had a little money then and now we're flat broke.  The plane fare
cleaned us out.  Suggestions anyone?"

"I guess I can always hitchhike out to the North Shore and try living
with the hippies," Ellen said, "but after all the fun and excitement
we've had, I don't think I could stand the quiet life."

"We're not going to break up ... not after what we've been through
together," Kalola declared.  "There are always some sailors around the
airport.  Give me an hour and I'll have taxi fare for us.  We can go see
if Joe Moto will let us have our old shack back."

"Oh, to hell with it," Lynn vetoed this idea.  "Let's just start
walking.  Maybe you're right.  Maybe good old Joe will give us a break.
Come on."

They walked half the distance before a Filipino truck driver picked them
up.  They came at last to the Pacific Paradise Hotel and climbed down
from the load of cement sacks on which they had been riding.

"It's good to be home," Kalola said.  "Let's go see Joe."

They knocked several times before the door opened.  There before them,
clad only in swim trunks, was Wikiwiki.

"Wiki!" they screamed in chorus and charged him.  He went down under the
flying attack, offering only ineffectual resistance to the kisses that
showered onto his face and the hands that clutched avidly at his crotch.

"Hey, quit it!" he managed to say at last as he sat up and brushed them
away like annoying flies.  "For chrissakes let me breathe!"

"What are you doing here?" they all asked in unison.  "Why did you
desert us on Maui?"

"One question at a time," he countered, parrying another pass at his
genitals.  "In the first place, I and my partner are the new owners of
the Pacific Paradise Hotel, and to answer a question you haven't yet
asked, your old Number Four is empty and waiting for you.  In the second
place, I didn't exactly desert." They were amazed to see him blush under
his dark skin.  "I sort of got married."

"You what?"

"You heard him," another voice said as the former Miss Barrington-Phaff
entered from a bedroom door.  "What he said was that he got married ...
and I'll thank you to unhand his cock."

Speechlessly, the three girl stared at the gorgeous bride who wore
nothing but a shorty nightgown and sandals.

"Yeh, we got married," Wikiwiki admitted.  "Her papa disowned her, but
she had enough bread of her own to buy this joint from Joe Moto.  I've
gone out of the beach boy business and into the hotel racket.  As a
matter of fact, we plan to turn the Pacific Paradise into the best
damned whorehouse in the islands.  We were just waiting for you three to
show up to help us get started.  I knew you'd come here.  Without my
brains, you were sure to screw things up for yourselves at the Hale-
Kaahumanu.  You kids want in on this deal?"

"You bet we do," Ellen answered for the others, "only no more fancy
schemes.  I've said all along that fucking is the only safe, sane and
respectable way for decent girls to make a living."

"Don't worry about it," Evangeline assured her.  "Wiki's scheming days
are over.  You'll find some old friends of yours here.  Koko is to be
the assistant manager.  His wife took the kids and went back to Japan."

"Oh, goody!" Lynn cried, clapping her hands together.  "I hope he
brought his little white whip."

"And we were lucky to get Old Moke to come over as gardener," Evangeline
went on.  "Oh, yes, and there is one other.  We have to have a pimp.  No
decent brothel can operate without a pimp.  This one has become a drunk,
and he's a nasty, dirty, lecherous old man, but he'll be good at the job
because he'll do anything for a buck.  Here he is now."

The three girls looked up to see a shabby, bearded figure in the
doorway.  He had his hat in his hand and was standing there, blearily
eyeing Ellen with lustful greed.

It was Matthew Longworth.

"Well, we might as well get started," Kalola said, standing up.  "I saw
a bunch of sailors down on the avenue as we came by."

"Before we get down to business," Lynn interrupted, "don't you think
this calls for a little celebration ... a sort of combination homecoming
and housewarming?"

"Like what?" Evangeline asked suspiciously.

"Oh," Lynn replied innocently, "I thought we might have a sort of party
out on the lawn ... like a luau maybe?"

The End

*---