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"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.