George Loomis: Three naughty girls

"Wow, I'll bet he's got a nice big cock!" Angela Hart whispered excitedly to her two companions as the muscular young man walked past them on the narrow sidewalk.

Angela, her sister, Coralee, and the pair's best friend, Reina Escorial, were on the make for the first time in their lives, and it was obvious by the husky tone of Angela's voice that she was not about to waste much time in fixing the three of them up.

She was cool! The minute that Mr. and Mrs. Hart had decided to accept Mr. and Mrs. Escorial's invitation to cruise down to La Paz, Angie had called the other two girls to her room for meetings about what they'd do in their parents' absence. Somehow, they'd make it down to the beaches of Santa Vaca County, find some boys, have a ball. Even if their folks had hired that tough, smart Miss Thatcher to watchdog them.

And then, no more than an hour after the two sets of parents had departed, with Miss Hart looking anxiously at her watch, and Mr. Hart looking impatiently at his, and with Miss Hart saying: "You girls will be all right; I'm sure Miss Thatcher has just been delayed!" Well, that was when the miracle had happened. A phone call from Miss Thatcher. A pained and panicky phone call. Angie had taken the telephone call. And when she cradled the phone and turned to the others, her face was a study in triumph and purpose.

"She's broken an ankle – or maybe it's just a bad sprain. But she's got to stay in bed. Wow! Oh, wow! There's no way she can reach the folks, no way she can get here! We've got two weeks! Oh, wow!" Angela did a little war dance.

The two girls looked eager but confused. "What are we going to do, Angie?" Coralee asked. "Get some boys over here?"

"And have all the neighbors taking notes for a report to Mom?" Angela's sarcasm was kind and sisterly. "Hell, no, baby! We go where nobody knows us, and where the action is!"

Well, that had been about four hours ago on the dock, and a hundred miles north on the map. And here the three of them were, in the pleasant little city of Apple Tree, one of the many pleasant resorts strung along the shoreline of Santa Vaca County. And this was where the action was, all right. Teens by the hundred, running and walking and sitting in cars and slouching against buildings. Boys in surfer trunks, girls in bikinis.

Coralee, as tall as Angela with the same gray eyes and ash-blonde hair, hugged herself and tried to keep from jumping up and down. Her sweet breasts, soft mounds of tenderness, tingled as her arms pressed them. And Reina, so slim and dark, but with the spirit of love and adventure shining in her large brown eyes, hugged Angie and said: "Oh, Angie! How soon can we get started?"

The resourceful Angela gave the eager pair a sisterly smile. "First," she said, "we've got to decide where to stay. Then, we get our bikinis on and start cruising." She looked at the crowds streaming along Apple Tree's main street, old Highway 101, and turning to head west toward the beaches. What she saw was just a bit discouraging about twice as many girls as boys. "Come on, now, and stick close to me – I want to ask that lady at the bus depot for some information."

They ate sandwiches and drank Cokes from a vending machine while Angela, determined not to show discouragement, looked through a sheaf of resort advertising from the rack up near the depot door.

"What are we waiting for, Angie?" Coralee asked. "I'm hot to get started!" She scratched her juvenile crotch suggestively, and gave her sister what she thought was a leer.

"Look here," she said, holding a brightly colored brochure out to the girls. "The information lady says there isn't a room anywhere up and down the coast, from Tijuana to Long Beach."

"Kenny's Stables? Are you out of your mind, Angie? What do we do at a stable – sleep with the horse?" Coralee jibed.

"Don't be a smart-ass," her sister said sharply. "Look, it says right down here, 'accommodations and meals nearby'. They ought to have a room." She patted Coralee on the arm, and dropped her voice. "Don't you see, baby? They're ten miles inland they shouldn't be so crowded."

"Have you got enough money?" Reina asked doubtfully. "The folder says the place is between Apple Tree and Rancho Dell. I remember my dad saying that Rancho Dell millionaireasville. Why don't we just go on down and camp at the beach, we're sure to make some sort of connection!"

"I've got Mama's Master Charge card. Stay here a minute."

She went back to the baggage counter and came back with a large key on a brass ring. "The lady can't get our stuff now," Anne said. "There's a bus due in any minute, and she's working the counter alone. Come on; she gave me the key so we can pick out our own bags."

They went into a dark room that ran along the north side of the building. There was a pile of luggage piled on the floor, and the only light was from a window, closed and painted over in opaque white.

"I'll open the window so we can see what we're doing," Coralee offered, and Angela said: "Okay, but the lady said to be sure and leave it closed and locked."

They heard the window go up part way, and there was a muted outcry from Coralee which brought both Angela and Reina up from where they'd been poking at the heap of bags. In the light from the window, they saw Coralee, her face bright with interest, beckoning to them, holding a finger to her lips.

The three of them knelt by the partly raised window pane, and Angela said, under her breath, "My God!"

There was an open space between their building and the second one down, probably ten feet wide and twenty feet long. It seemed to be a storage yard; there was a six-foot board fence shutting the space off from the alley. But there was no roof, of course, and the afternoon sun made the area as bright as a theater stage. And the girls were seeing a real show. A big, dark-haired boy in the back seat of the convertible parked practically under their noses was just guiding the car's top back and out of sight. He was perhaps eighteen or older, and he was grinning at two other boys who had a small but ripely built girl between them.

"How old are you, chickie?" the dark boy asked. "And where are you from?"

The girl tossed her long auburn hair. "What difference does it make? I'm big enough. And don't call chickie my name is Joan."

The big boy in the car began to thumb down his trunks, showing a heavy cock growing out of a thick bush of pubic hair, and Angela heard the two girls gasp. The big tool was growing; when it was hard, Angie guessed, it would be at least seven inches long. The auburn-haired girl looked startled.

"Hey, wait a minute," she said, "I'm not doing anything with these jokers around. Me and you, that's one thing, but no audience!"

She turned on her heel, and one of the two boys grabbed at her, catching the strap of her bikini bra and jerking it so that it tore away, leaving two large, heavy tits swinging. The girl cried out and tried to cover them with her arms, but the dark boy in the car said: "Peel her!" and his two companions roughly stripped her panties down, showing a big triangle of dark-red hair at the base of her belly.

Angie looked at Coralee and at Reina, and they were both still as statues, their eyes riveted on the scene, their breathing so loud that Angela feared they might give away their presence. Never happen, she thought. Those guys at too busy!

The girl in the parking yard had turned white, and was struggling in the grasp of the two boys.

"Let me go, you bastards!" she grated. "I'll holler for the cops!" A flow of angry tears ran down her freckled cheeks and she closed her eyes, opening her mouth to shriek.

Before it was half out, one of her captors slapped her so hard that it rang like a shot, and the girl, her eyes hazed over with pain and fright, stood still. "Lift her in, fellows," the dark boy said. His trunks were gone, now, and his big cock was getting hard. "Come on, baby," he grinned, "cheer up! You said you wanted a place to stay tonight, and we've got a big camper right down on the beach. You act nice, and maybe we'll fix you up!"