Andrew Laird - Young girl sex club

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?"