Andrew Laird - Young girl sex club

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.

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 Matthew 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?"